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Hatred and cark and care, what place have they / In yon blue liberality of heaven?.

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
Heaven
Place
Care
Liberality
Hatred
Blue

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My care is for myself Myself am whole and sole reality.
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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.
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That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.
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Other heights in other lives, God willing.
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Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.
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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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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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Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.
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What a thing friendship is - World without end.
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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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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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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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He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.
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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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The peerless cup afloat Of the lake-lily is an urn some nymph Swims bearing high above her head.
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Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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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.
Robert Browning
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Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her
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If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.
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