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Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

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
Away
Saddle
Saddles
Boot
Boots
Horse

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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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We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.
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The great mind knows the power of gentleness.
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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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Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.
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Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.
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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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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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No, when the fight begins within himself, / A man's worth something.
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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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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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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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Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth
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Go in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue, summon all, For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.
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Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.
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O woman-country! wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead.
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Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
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What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
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But there are times when patience proves at fault.
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Truth is within ourselves. There is an inmost center in us all, where the truth abides in fullness.
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