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The peerless cup afloat Of the lake-lily is an urn some nymph Swims bearing high above her head.

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
Lakes
Nymph
Cups
Swims
Swim
Nymphs
Head
Afloat
High
Lily
Lilies
Bearing
Lake
Peerless

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But there are times when patience proves at fault.
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It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
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Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
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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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Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.
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Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.
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Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
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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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Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.
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As is your sort of mind, So is your sort of search: You will find what you desire.
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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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The ultimate, angels' law, Indulging every instinct of the soul There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing!
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There's a new tribunal now higher than God's -The educated man's!
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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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