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Smiling the boy fell dead.

Robert Browning

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Robert Browning
Age: 77 †
Born: 1812
Born: May 7
Died: 1889
Died: December 12
Dramaturgy
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Robert Barrett Browning
Browning
Dead
Smiling
Fell
Boys

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The heavens and earth stay as they were my heart Beats as it beat: the truth remains the truth.
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Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?
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Shun death, is my advice.
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Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
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Look not down but up!
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It 's wiser being good than bad It 's safer being meek than fierce It 's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched That after Last returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched.
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how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet
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Say not a small event! Why small? Costs it more pain that this ye call A great event should come to pass From that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in or exceed!
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If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.
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Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.
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I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.
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But God has a few of us to whom he whispers in the ear The rest may reason and welcome 'tis we musicians know.
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Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
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What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.
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Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.
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But little do or can the best of us: That little is achieved through Liberty.
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There are those who believe something, and therefore will tolerate nothing and on the other hand, those who tolerate everything, because they believe nothing.
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White shall not neutralize the black, nor good compensate bad in man, absolve him so life's business being just the terrible choice.
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God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her.
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He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.
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