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To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.

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
Evening
Seemed
Least
Never

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Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
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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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Most progress is most failure.
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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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Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!
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Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
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Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
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You never know what life means till you die even throughout life, tis death that makes life live.
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Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you let me try and draw you. Some night you'll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!
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The past is gained, secure, and on record.
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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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He guides me and the bird. In His good time!
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Oh the wild joys of living! The leaping from rock to rock ... the cool silver shock of the plunge in a pool's living waters.
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Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
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The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
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Thought is the soul of act.
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Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.
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Genius has somewhat of the infantine but of the childish not a touch or taint.
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What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
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What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.
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