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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!

#English #Victorians

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Otras obras de Robert Browning...
Saul

Said Abner, ‘At last thou art com… ’Kiss my cheek, wish me well!' Th… And he, ‘Since the King, O my fr… ’Neither drunken nor eaten have we… ‘Thou return with the joyful assur…
The Italian in England

That second time they hunted me From hill to plain, from shore to… And Austria, hounding far and wid… Her blood-hounds thro’ the country… Breathed hot and instant on my tra…
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…
“Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came”

My first thought was, he lied in e… That hoary cripple, with malicious… Askance to watch the workings of h… On mine, and mouth scarce able to… Suppression of the glee, that purs…
Easter-Day

HOW very hard it is to be A Christian! Hard for you and me, —Not the mere task of making real That duty up to its ideal, Effecting thus complete and whole,
Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed’s Church, Rome, The

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity… Draw round my bed: is Anselm keep… Nephews—sons mine . . . ah God, I… She, men would have to be your mot… Old Gandolf envied me, so fair sh…
Last Ride Together, The

I said—-Then, dearest, since 'tis… Since now at length my fate I kno… Since nothing all my love avails, Since all, my life seemed meant fo… Since this was written and needs m…
A Lovers’ Quarrel

Oh, what a dawn of day! How the March sun feels like May! All is blue again After last night’s rain, And the South dries the hawthorn-…
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…
Asolando: Dedication

To whom but you, dear Friend, should I dedicate verses—some few written, all of them supervised, in the comfort of your presence, and with yet another experience of the gracious hospita...
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Flute-Music, with an Accompaniment

He. AH, the bird-like fluting Through the ash-tops yonder— Bullfinch-bubblings, soft sounds s… What sweet thoughts, I wonder? Fine-pearled notes that surely
Boy and the Angel, The

Morning, evening, noon and night, 'Praise God!; sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned. Hard he laboured, long and well;
Speculative

OTHERS may need new life in Hea… Man, Nature, Art—made new, assume… Man with new mind old sense to lea… Nature,—new light to clear old glo… Art that breaks bounds, gets soari…
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Incident of the French Camp

You know, we French stormed Ratis… A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy ho…
Bad Dreams: III

THIS was my dream: I saw a Fore… Old as the earth, no track nor tra… Of unmade man. Thou, Soul, explor… Though in a trembling rapture—spac… Immeasurable! Shrubs, turned tree…



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