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Robert Browning

Robert Browning

The Year’s at the Spring

The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hill-side’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in his Heaven—
All’s right with the world!

#EnglishWriters #Victorian

Other works by Robert Browning...
Abt Volger

(after he has been extemporizin… Would that the structure brave, th… Bidding my organ obey, calling its… Claiming each slave of the sound,… Armies of angels that soar, legion…
The Real and True and Sure

Marriage on earth seems such a cou… Mere imitation of the inimitable: In heaven we have the real and tru… ’Tis there they neither marry nor… In marriage but are as the angels:…
A Panoramic View of Florence from Bellosguardo, by Thomas Patch
Old Pictures in Florence

THE MORN when first it thunders… The eel in the pond gives a leap,… As I leaned and looked over the a… Of the villa-gate this warm March… No flash snapped, no dumb thunder…
 1
Home Thoughts, From the Sea

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent… Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red… Bluish 'mid the burning water, ful… In the dimmest North-east distanc… “Here and here did England help m…
The Lady and the Painter

SHE: Yet womanhood you reverence… So you profess! HE: With heart and soul. SHE: Of which fact this is evide… To help Art-study,- for some dole
Waring

Mr. Alfred Domett, C.M.G., auth… Ranolf and Amohia, 'full of descr… New Zealand scenery.] What’s become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip,
Youth and Art

It once might have been, once only… We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lon… I, a lone she—bird of his feather. Your trade was with sticks and cla…
Misconceptions

. This is a spray the Bird clung to… Making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprang t… Fit for her nest and her treasure.
A Grammarian’s Funeral Shortly After the Revival of Learnin

Let us begin and carry up this cor… Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vu… Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the…
My Last Duchess

That’s my last Duchess painted on… Looking as if she were alive. I c… That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pan… Worked busily a day, and there she… Will’t please you sit and look at…
The Confessional

It is a lie—their Priests, their… Their Saints, their... all they f… Are lies, and lies—there! through… And ceiling, there! and walls and… There, lies, they lie—shall still…
A Wall

O the old wall here! How I could… Life in a long midsummer day, My feet confined to a plot of gras… My eyes from a wall not once away! And lush and lithe do the creepers…
Epilogue to Asolando

At the midnight in the silence of… When you set your fancies free, Will they pass to where—by death,… Low he lies who once so loved you,… —Pity me?
Instans Tyrannus

Of the million or two, more or les… I rule and possess, One man, for some cause undefined, Was least to my mind. II.
Asolando: Prologue

“THE Poet’s age is sad: for why? In youth, the natural world could… No common object but his eye At once involved with alien glow— His own soul’s iris-bow.



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