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Sing, riding 's a joy! For me I ride.

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
Riding
Ride
Sing
Joy

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Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity These are its sign and note and character.
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Imperfection means perfection hid.
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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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Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
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Love is the energy of life.
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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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But there are times when patience proves at fault.
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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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What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
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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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Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Robert Browning
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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.
Robert Browning
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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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Who knows most, doubts most.
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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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Thought is the soul of act.
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Smiling the boy fell dead.
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O never star Was lost here We all aspire to heaven and there is heaven Above us. If I stoop Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, It is but for a time I press God's lamp Close to my breast its splendor soon or late Will pierce the gloom. I shall emerge some day.
Robert Browning
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Twere too absurd to slight For the hereafter the todays delight!
Robert Browning
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How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
Robert Browning