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Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain

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
Must
Succeed
Pleasure
Turns
Pain
Else
Past

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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware.
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There is no truer truth obtainable by Man than comes of music
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But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.
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Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.
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And gain is gain, however small.
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My sun sets to rise again.
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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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I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.
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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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Praise is deeper than the lips
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Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.
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A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.
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Love is the energy of life.
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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
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One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
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The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
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How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
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Other heights in other lives, God willing.
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