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Twere too absurd to slight For the hereafter the todays delight!

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
Delight
Pleasure
Today
Twere
Todays
Slight
Hereafter
Absurd

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how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet
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Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'
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Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.
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God smiles as He has always smiled Ere suns and moons could wax and wane, Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled The Heavens, God thought on me His child Ordained a life for me, arrayed Its circumstances, every one To the minutest ay, God said This head this hand should rest upon Thus, ere He fashioned star or sun.
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Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
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He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.
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As is your sort of mind, So is your sort of search: You will find what you desire.
Robert Browning
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How he lies in his rights of a man! Death has done all death can. And absorbed in the new life he leads, He recks not, he heeds Nor his wrong nor my vengeance both strike On his senses alike, And are lost in the solemn and strange Surprise of the change.
Robert Browning
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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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I judge people by what they might be, - not are, nor will be.
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
Robert Browning
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Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you let me try and draw you. Some night you'll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!
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Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
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Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.
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Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!
Robert Browning
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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!
Robert Browning
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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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I want to know a butcher paints, A baker rhymes for his pursuit, Candlestick-maker much acquaints His soul with song, or, haply mute, Blows out his brains upon the flute.
Robert Browning
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In this world, who can do a thing, will not And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — And thus we half-men struggle.
Robert Browning
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A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.
Robert Browning