Quote

Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?

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
Time
Heaven
Feats
Enjoy
Forcing
Force
Employ
Earth
Dues
Better
Eternity
Done
Creatures
Pent
Make
Teach
Nought
Would
Break
Feat

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The ultimate, angels' law, Indulging every instinct of the soul There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing!
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Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
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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.
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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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In this world, who can do a thing, will not And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.
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What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
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Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
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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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I do what many dream of, all their lives
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But there are times when patience proves at fault.
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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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Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.
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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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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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All service ranks the same with God,- With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.
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One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'.
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Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain Learn, nor account the pang dare, never grudge the throe!
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Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
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