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Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.

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
Flung
Friendship
Arms
Head
World

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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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Into the street the piper stepped, Smiling first a little smile As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while. And the piper advanced And the children followed.
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Success in marriage is more than finding the right person: it is being the right person.
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.
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Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
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I say, the acknowledgment of God in ChristAccepted by thy reason, solves for theeAll questions in the earth and out of it,And has so far advanced thee to be wise.
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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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Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
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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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No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.
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Sorrow, the heart must bear, Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there. Many a circumstance, at least, Touches the very breast. For those Whom any sent away,--he knows: And in the live man's stead, Armor and ashes reach The house of each.
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Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware.
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My sun sets to rise again.
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God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.
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Look not down but up!
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The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
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No, when the fight begins within himself, / A man's worth something.
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Truth is within ourselves.
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What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.
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