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All we have gained then by our unbelief Is a life of doubt diversified by faith, For one of faith diversified by doubt: We called the chess-board white-we call it black.

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
Called
Call
Diversified
Faith
Unbelief
White
Gained
Black
Board
Life
Boards
Chess
Doubt

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Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.
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Mid the sharp, short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, The wild tulip at the end of its tube, blows out its great red bell, Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell.
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The common problem, yours, mine, everyone's Is ? not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be ? but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair Up to our means.
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Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
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Thought is the soul of act.
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Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
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Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.
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Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.
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Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
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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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Genius has somewhat of the infantine but of the childish not a touch or taint.
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I am grown peaceful as old age tonight.
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The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
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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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Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
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Who knows most, doubts most.
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Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.
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