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Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.

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
Fool
Call
Nature
Fools

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And gain is gain, however small.
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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The great mind knows the power of gentleness.
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That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.
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Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
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Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best.
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With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart once more! Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!
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I do what many dream of, all their lives
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All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!
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Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!
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I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.
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In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
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And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.
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The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
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When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?
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Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!
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All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.
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I am grown peaceful as old age tonight.
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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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My sun sets to rise again.
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