The Poetic and Dramatic Works of Robert Browning

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1887 - English poetry
 

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Page 184 - There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
Page 186 - Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
Page 189 - Not on the vulgar mass Called " work," must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice...
Page 70 - The very God! think, Abib; dost thou think? So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too — So, through the thunder comes a human voice Saying, "O heart I made, a heart beats here! "Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself! "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!
Page 185 - GROW old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!
Page 184 - And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Page 86 - Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!" I might have done it for you. So it seems: Perhaps not. All is as God over-rules. Beside, incentives come from the soul's self; The rest avail not. Why do I need you? What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo?
Page 7 - For the loving worm within its clod, Were diviner than a loveless god Amid his worlds, I will dare to say.
Page 185 - Not that, amassing flowers, Youth sighed 'Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall?' Not that, admiring stars, It yearned ' Nor Jove nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!
Page 96 - 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!

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