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And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!
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
May
June
Tune
Tunes
Flowers
Blackbird
Pass
Blackbirds
Summer
Bean
Soon
Boon
Flower
Beans
More quotes by Robert Browning
Women hate a debt as men a gift.
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Shun death, is my advice.
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And gain is gain, however small.
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Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
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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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Truth never hurt the teller.
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The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
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Lofty designs must close in like effects.
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Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
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When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy.
Robert Browning
That's the wise thrush he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
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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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For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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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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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
Robert Browning
Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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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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