Our gifts, once given, must here abide.
Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
Another Boehme with a tougher book And subtler meanings of what roses say.
A man in armour is his armours slave.
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun looked over the mountain's rim And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me
Life is an empty dream.
Dante, who loved well because he hated, Hated wickedness that hinders loving.
In Gods good time, Which does not always fall on Saturday When the world looks for wages.
And still, as love's brief morning wore,
With a gentle start, half smile, half sigh,
They found love not as it seemed before.
Stand still, true poet that you are I know you let me try and draw you. Some night youll fail us when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star.
Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away.
Say not 'a small event' Why 'small' Costs it more pain that this ye call A 'great event' should come to pass From that Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in or exceed.
Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, Death ending all with a knife.
Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast.
It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
All poetry is difficult to read The sense of it anyhow.
Oh Heaven, and the terrible crystal!
How the world is made for each of us!
My life is a fault at last, I fear:
It seems too much like a fate, indeed!
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure Faith, and at leisure once is he Straightaway he wants to be busy
Since there my past life lies, why alter it?
No part in aught they hope or fear!
Lose who may I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they.
Italy, my Italy Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais) 'Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'
Every joy is gain, and gain is gain, however small.
Thou hast no power nor mayst conceive of mine,
But love I gave thee, with myself to love,
And thou must love me who have died for thee!
But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.
By this time he has tested his first plough, And studied his last chapter of St John.
Your heart's queen, you dethrone her?
More Robert Browning Quotations (Based on Topics)
Life - Love - Man - God - World - Time - Soul - Truth - Literature - Heaven - Birds - Joy & Excitement - Nature - Death & Dying - Pain - Fear - Perfection - Doubt & Skepticism - Belief & Faith - View All Robert Browning Quotations
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