Quotes
Quotes - Browning
For poets (bear the word) Half-poets even, are still whole democrats.
The world goes whispering to its own, "This anguish pierces to the bone;" And tender friends go sighing round, "What love can ever cure this wound?" My days go on, my days go on.
Life treads on life, and heart on heart; We press too close in church and mart To keep a dream or grave apart.
The devil's most devilish when respectable.
And there my little doves did sit With feathers softly brown And glittering eyes that showed their right To general Nature's deep delight.
When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?
It's a long time between drinks.
Oh, to be in England, Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf, Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now.
To me at least was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day.
Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.
A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.
Beautiful. (in reply to her husband who had asked how she felt moments before her death.).
And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
Brazen helm of daffodillies, With a glitter toward the light. Purple violets for the mouth, Breathing perfumes west and south; And a sword of flashing lilies, Holden ready for the fight.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead. She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,-- And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close; Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.
The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks, Held out in the smoke, like stars by day.
Yet here's eglantine, Here's ivy!--take them as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
Good, to forgive; Best to forget.
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat; Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote.
Let my hand, This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend; Aprile! Hand-in-hand with you, Aprile!
Hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, And great hearts expand And grow one in the sense of this world's life.
And gain is gain, however small.
So may glory from defect arise.
My star, God's glowworm.
And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair! And they heart the words it said-- Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!
