Quote

Wander at will, Day after day,-- Wander away, Wandering still-- Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber: Body shall cumber Soul-flight no more.

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
Stills
Canst
Still
Slumber
Body
Wandering
May
Soar
Soul
Wander
Flight
Shall
Away

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Out of your whole life give but a moment! All of your life that has gone before, All to come after it, -so you ignore, So you make perfect the present, condense, In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment, Thought and feeling and soul and sense.
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A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
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Oh never star Was lost here but it rose afar.
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Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
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Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.
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We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.
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Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
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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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The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
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Look not down but up!
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Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.
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What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.
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Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
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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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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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All's love, yet all's law.
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A man in armor is his armor's slave.
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Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
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The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.
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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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