The poetical works of Robert Browning, Volume 2

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Page 226 - All service ranks the same with God: If now, as formerly he trod Paradise, his presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work— God's puppets, best and worst, Are we; there is no last nor first. Say not 'a small event!' Why 'small'? Costs it more pain that this, ye call A 'great event,
Page 236 - 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 .
Page 256 - Waiting my word to enter and make bright, Or flutter off and leave all blank as first. This body had no soul before, but slept Or stirred, was beauteous or ungainly, free From taint or foul with stain, as outward things Fastened their image on its passiveness : Now, it will wake, feel, live — or die again ! Shall to produce form out of unshaped stuff Be- art — and, further, to evoke a soul From form, be nothing? This new soul is mine ! Now, to kill Lutwyche, what would that do?
Page 3 - The thunder-phrase of the Athenian, grown Up out of memories of Marathon, Would echo like his own sword's griding screech Braying a Persian shield, — the silver speech Of Sidney's self, the starry paladin, Turn intense as a trumpet sounding in The knights to tilt...
Page 150 - God has conceded two sights to a man — One, of men's whole work, time's completed plan, The other, of the minute's work, man's first Step to the plan's completeness...
Page 4 - That autumn eve was stilled : ^ A last remains of sunset dimly burned O'er the far forests, like a torch-flame turned By the wind back upon its bearer's hand In one long flare of crimson ; as a brand, The woods beneath lay black.
Page 220 - A mite of my twelve hours' treasure, The least of thy gazes or glances, (Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure) One of thy choices or one of thy chances, (Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure) — My Day, if I squander such labor or leisure, Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me!
Page 280 - neath one's feet ; There was nought above me, nought below, My childhood had not learned to know : For, what are the voices of birds — Ay, and of beasts, — but words, our words, Only so much more sweet f The knowledge of that with my life begun.
Page 205 - And speak for you. Of a Power above you still Which, utterly incomprehensible, Is out of rivalry, which thus you can Love, tho...
Page 285 - God bless me ! I can pray no more to-night. No doubt, some way or other, hymns say right. All service ranks the same with God — With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we ; there is no last nor first.

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