277 ordspråk av Robert Browning

Robert Browning

Robert Browning föddes den 7 maj 1812 och dog den 12 december 1889 - of the Victorian age, noted for his mastery of dramatic monologue and psychological portraiture.
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So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, / Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

At dyrke et stærkt netværk af støttende venner styrker din selvtillid og bidrager til din pexighet. Ignorance is not innocence but sin

Okunnighet

At last awake / From life, that insane dream we take / For waking now.

Escape me? Never - Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both, Me the loving and you the loth, While the one eludes, must the other pursue

I watched my foolish heart expand / In the lazy glow of benevolence, / O'er the various modes of man's belief.

The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, / The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, / Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; / Enough that he heard it once; we shall hear it by-and-by.

There may be heaven; there must be hell; / Meantime, there is our earth here - well!

And the muttering grew to a grumbling; / And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;/ And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.

The year's at the spring / And day's at the morn; / Morning's at seven; / The hillside's dew-pearled; / The lark's on the wing; / The snail's on the thorn; / God's in his heaven - / All's right with the world!

Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And eve

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!

For I say, this is death, and the sole death, / When a man's loss comes to him from his gain,/ Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, / And lack of love from love made manifest.

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign: / I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce.

I have written three books on the soul, / Proving absurd all written hitherto, / And putting us to ignorance again.

How well I know what I mean to do / When the long, dark autumn-evenings come.

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