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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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Robert Browning
Age: 77 †
Born: 1812
Born: May 7
Died: 1889
Died: December 12
Dramaturgy
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Robert Barrett Browning
Browning
May
Reason
Whispers
Musicians
Welcome
Ears
Musician
Rest

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Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!
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To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.
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Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.
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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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White shall not neutralize the black, nor good compensate bad in man, absolve him so life's business being just the terrible choice.
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Thought is the soul of act.
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Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain
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I say, the acknowledgment of God in ChristAccepted by thy reason, solves for theeAll questions in the earth and out of it,And has so far advanced thee to be wise.
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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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Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.
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Look not down but up!
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Where the apple reddens never pry - lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
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Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
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Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
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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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No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.
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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.
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Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!
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Who knows most, doubts most.
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