Selections from the Poetical Works of Robert Browning

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Smith, Elder, 1880 - 371 pages
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Page 168 - Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest ship to steer, Get this Formidable clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well...
Page 223 - Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides, — And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, Round the ancient idol, on his base again, — The grand Perhaps!
Page 346 - There's nobody on the house-tops now — Just a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow, At the Shambles' Gate — or, better yet, By the very scaffold's foot, I trow.
Page 347 - I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind ; And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. Thus I entered, and thus I go ! In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. " Paid by the world, what dost thou owe Me ? " — God might question ; now instead, 'Tis God shall repay : I am safer so.
Page 100 - Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps — Marked with L. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) Saint, forsooth!
Page 160 - Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, Chorus — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Page 159 - Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my castle before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery gray, Chorus — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Page 71 - Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair...
Page 99 - Gr-rr - there go, my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God's blood, would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh, that rose has prior claims Needs its leaden vase filled brimming? Hell dry you up with its flames ! At the meal we sit together: Salve tibi!
Page 16 - June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas!

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