Poems of Robert Browning from the Author's Revised Text of 1869; His Own Selections with Additions from His Latest Works

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Crowell, 1896 - 512 páginas

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Página 457 - One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.
Página 154 - Therefore to whom turn I but to thee, the ineffable Name? Builder and maker, thou, of houses not made with hands! What, have fear of change from thee who art ever the same? Doubt that thy power can fill the heart that thy power expands ? 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.
Página 131 - For, don't you mark? we're made so that we love First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see; And so they are better, painted — better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out.
Página 44 - Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, — they watch from their graves ! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, — He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! We shall march prospering, — not thro...
Página 160 - EVELYN HOPE BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass; Little has yet been changed, I think : The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays thro
Página 40 - And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! And the thick heavy...
Página 40 - Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her. We'll remember at Aix' — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.
Página 211 - 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...
Página 174 - That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it.
Página 103 - The counter our lovers staked was lost As surely as if it were lawful coin : And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.

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