Robert Browning
Robert Browning
Robert Browningwas an English poet and playwright whose mastery of the dramatic monologue made him one of the foremost Victorian poets. His poems are known for their irony, characterization, dark humour, social commentary, historical settings, and challenging vocabulary and syntax...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth7 May 1812
littles lasts little-things
We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them.
consent
There is nothing so unpardonable as to consent to a senseless, aimless, purposeless life.
pain pretty-woman attractiveness
A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
infinite finite poetry-is
All poetry is putting the infinite within the finite.
angel men brutes
Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.
ocean average yield
We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.
sea islands lilies
From the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
blue hatred heaven
Hatred and cark and care, what place have they / In yon blue liberality of heaven?.
hair gold brushes
Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms?
devil way fiddle
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
morning england april
Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware.
might succeed comfort
For thence a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, - Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.
humble pride ifs
As if true pride Were not also humble!
death being-yourself mean
It's like those eerie stories nurses tell, Of how some actor on a stage played Death, With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart, And called himself the monarch of the world; Then, going in the tire-room afterward, Because the play was done, to shift himself, Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly, The moment he had shut the closet door, By Death himself. Thus God might touch a Pope At unawares, ask what his baubles mean, And whose part he presumed to play just now. Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true!