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Faultless to a fault.

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
Faultless
Fault
Faults
Perfection

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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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When I love most, love is disguised. In hate and when hate is surprised, in love, then I hate most.
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That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.
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Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
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A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
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Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.
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Is your love for the Lord sufficient to give all your time and talents to his work?
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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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Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
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Would you have your songs endure? Build on the human heart.
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Hatred and cark and care, what place have they / In yon blue liberality of heaven?.
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But God has a few of us to whom he whispers in the ear The rest may reason and welcome 'tis we musicians know.
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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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What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
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Truth is within ourselves.
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Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.
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For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.
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Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.
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All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.
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