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Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.

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
Star
Losing
Stars
Lost
Never
Afar
Rose

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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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And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!
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Would you have your songs endure? Build on the human heart.
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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.
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Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.
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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity These are its sign and note and character.
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Who knows most, doubts most.
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.
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I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.
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Say not a small event! Why small? Costs it more pain that this ye call A great event should come to pass From that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in or exceed!
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God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.
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Aspire, break bounds. Endeavor to be good, and better still, best.
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In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
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What a thing friendship is - World without end.
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Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.
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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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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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The trouble that most of us find with the modern matched sets of clubs is that they don't really seem to know any more about the game than the old ones did.
Robert Browning