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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.

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
Roses
Mixed
Mad
Rose
Flower
Path
Way
Like
Myrtle

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Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.
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God smiles as He has always smiled Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled The Heavens, God thought on me His child Ordained a life for me, arrayed Its circumstances, every one To the minutest ay, God said This head this hand should rest upon Thus, ere He fashioned star or sun.
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Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
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Best be yourself, imperial, plain, and true.
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But little do or can the best of us: That little is achieved through Liberty.
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Progress is The law of life: man is not Man as yet.
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The trouble that most of us find with the modern matched sets of clubs is that they don't really seem to know any more about the game than the old ones did.
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Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.
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Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.
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One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
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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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Who knows most, doubts most entertaining hope means recognizing fear.
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Imperfection means perfection hid.
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The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
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For the preacher's merit or demerit, It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer In the earthen vessel, holding treasure, But the main thing is, does it hold good measure Heaven soon sets right all other matters!
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How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
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You should not take a fellow eight years old and make him swear to never kiss the girls.
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There's a new tribunal now higher than God's -The educated man's!
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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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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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