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Best Famous Robert Browning Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Robert Browning poems. This is a select list of the best famous Robert Browning poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Robert Browning poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Robert Browning poems.

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by Robert Browning | |

Verse-Making Was Least of My Virtues

 Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despair 
Wealth that never yet was but might be--all that verse-making were 
If the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.
So I said, "To do little is bad, to do nothing is worse"-- And made verse.
Love-making,--how simple a matter! No depths to explore, No heights in a life to ascend! No disheartening Before, No affrighting Hereafter,--love now will be love ever more.
So I felt "To keep silence were folly:"--all language above, I made love.


by Robert Browning | |

Song from Paracelsus

 HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and stripes 
 Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, 
Smear'd with dull nard an Indian wipes 
 From out her hair: such balsam falls 
 Down sea-side mountain pedestals, 
From tree-tops where tired winds are fain, 
Spent with the vast and howling main, 
To treasure half their island-gain.
And strew faint sweetness from some old Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud Which breaks to dust when once unroll'd; Or shredded perfume, like a cloud From closet long to quiet vow'd, With moth'd and dropping arras hung, Mouldering her lute and books among, As when a queen, long dead, was young.


by Robert Browning | |

To Edward Fitzgerald

 I chanced upon a new book yesterday;
I opened it, and, where my finger lay
'Twixt page and uncut page, these words I read -
Some six or seven at most - and learned thereby
That you, Fitzgerald, whom by ear and eye
She never knew, "thanked God my wife was dead.
" Aye, dead! and were yourself alive, good Fitz, How to return you thanks would task my wits.
Kicking you seems the common lot of curs - While more appropriate greeting lends you grace, Surely to spit there glorifies your face - Spitting from lips once sanctified by hers.


by Robert Browning | |

Cavalier Tunes: Give a Rouse

 King Charles, and who'll do him right now? 
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse: here's, in Hell's despite now, 
King Charles! 

Who gave me the goods that went since? 
Who raised me the house that sank once? 
Who helped me to gold I spent since? 
Who found me in wine you drank once? 
(Chorus) 
King Charles, and who'll do him right now? 
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse: here's, in Hell's despite now, 
King Charles! 
To whom used my boy George quaff else, 
By the old fool's side that begot him? 
For whom did he cheer and laugh else, 
While Noll's damned troopers shot him? 
(Chorus) 
King Charles, and who'll do him right now? 
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
Give a rouse: here's, in Hell's despite now, 
King Charles!


by Robert Browning | |

Heap cassia sandal-buds and stripes

 Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes 
Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, 
Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes 
From out her hair: such balsam falls 
Down sea-side mountain pedestals, 
From tree-tops where tired winds are fain, 
Spent with the vast and howling main, 
To treasure half their island-gain.
And strew faint sweetness from some old Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud Which breaks to dust when once unrolled; Or shredded perfume, like a cloud From closet long to quiet vowed, With mothed and dropping arras hung, Mouldering her lute and books among, As when a queen, long dead, was young.


by Robert Browning | |

Thus the Mayne glideth

 THUS the Mayne glideth 
Where my Love abideth; 
Sleep 's no softer: it proceeds 
On through lawns, on through meads, 
On and on, whate'er befall, 
Meandering and musical, 
Though the niggard pasturage 
Bears not on its shaven ledge 
Aught but weeds and waving grasses 
To view the river as it passes, 
Save here and there a scanty patch 
Of primroses too faint to catch 
A weary bee.
.
.
.
And scarce it pushes Its gentle way through strangling rushes Where the glossy kingfisher Flutters when noon-heats are near, Glad the shelving banks to shun, Red and steaming in the sun, Where the shrew-mouse with pale throat Burrows, and the speckled stoat; Where the quick sandpipers flit In and out the marl and grit That seems to breed them, brown as they: Naught disturbs its quiet way, Save some lazy stork that springs, Trailing it with legs and wings, Whom the shy fox from the hill Rouses, creep he ne'er so still.


by Robert Browning | |

Among the Rocks

 Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, 
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones 
To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet 
For the ripple to run over in its mirth; 
Listening the while, where on the heap of stones 
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.
That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!


by Robert Browning | |

Cavalier Tunes: Boot and Saddle

 Boot, saddle, to horse and away!
Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray,
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay--
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"


by Robert Browning | |

Pippas Song

 The year's at the spring, 
And day's at the morn; 
Morning's at seven; 
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd; 
The lark's on the wing; 
The snail's on the thorn; 
God's in His heaven-- 
All's right with the world!


by Robert Browning | |

Respectability

 I.
Dear, had the world in its caprice Deigned to proclaim ``I know you both, ``Have recognized your plighted troth, Am sponsor for you: live in peace!''--- How many precious months and years Of youth had passed, that speed so fast, Before we found it out at last, The world, and what it fears? II.
How much of priceless life were spent With men that every virtue decks, And women models of their sex, Society's true ornament,--- Ere we dared wander, nights like this, Thro' wind and rain, and watch the Seine, And feel the Boulevart break again To warmth and light and bliss? III.
I know! the world proscribes not love; Allows my finger to caress Your lips' contour and downiness, Provided it supply a glove.
The world's good word!---the Institute! Guizot receives Montalembert! Eh? Down the court three lampions flare: Put forward your best foot!


by Robert Browning | |

Overhead The Tree-Tops Meet

 Overhead the tree-tops meet,
Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet;
There was nought above me, and 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?
The knowledge of that with my life begun!
But I had so near made out the sun,
And counted your stars, the Seven and One,
Like the fingers of my hand:
Nay, I could all but understand
Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges,
And just when out of her soft fifty changes
No unfamiliar face might overlook me— 
Suddenly God took me!


by Robert Browning | |

Summum Bonum

 All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee:
All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem:
In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea:
Breath and bloom, shade and shine, wonder, wealth, and--how far above them--
Truth, that's brighter than gem,
Trust, that's purer than pearl,--
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe--all were for me
In the kiss of one girl


by Robert Browning | |

Earths Immortalities

 FAME.
See, as the prettiest graves will do in time, Our poet's wants the freshness of its prime; Spite of the sexton's browsing horse, the sods Have struggled through its binding osier rods; Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry, Wanting the brick-work promised by-and-by; How the minute grey lichens, plate o'er plate, Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date! LOVE.
So, the year's done with (_Love me for ever!_) All March begun with, April's endeavour; May-wreaths that bound me June needs must sever; Now snows fall round me, Quenching June's fever--- (_Love me for ever!_)


by Robert Browning | |

Man I Am and Man Would Be Love

 Man I am and man would be, Love--merest man and nothing more.
Bid me seem no other! Eagles boast of pinions--let them soar! I may put forth angel's plumage, once unmanned, but not before.
Now on earth to stand suffices,--nay, if kneeling serves, to kneel: Here you front me, here I find the all of heaven that earth can feel: Sense looks straight,--not over,under,--perfect sees beyond appeal.
Good you are and wise, full circle: what to me were more outside? Wiser wisdom, better goodness? Ah, such want the angel's wide Sense to take and hold and keep them! Mine at least has never tried.


by Robert Browning | |

Boot And Saddle

 Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens the blue from its silvery grey,

(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay,

(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads array:
Who laughs, Good fellows ere this, by my fay,

(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?"

(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"


by Robert Browning | |

The Lost Mistress

 All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that today;
One day more bursts them open fully
—You know the red turns grey.
Tomorrow we meet the same then, dearest? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign: For each glance of that eye so bright and black, Though I keep with heart's endeavour,— Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Though it stay in my soul for ever!— —Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer!


by Robert Browning | |

In A Gondola

 The moth's kiss, first!
Kiss me as if you made believe
You were not sure, this eve,
How my face, your flower, had pursed
Its petals up; so, here and there
You brush it, till I grow aware
Who wants me, and wide open I burst.
The bee's kiss, now! Kiss me as if you enter'd gay My heart at some noonday, A bud that dares not disallow The claim, so all is rendered up, And passively its shattered cup Over your head to sleep I bow.


by Robert Browning | |

Youll love me yet!—and I can tarry

 You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed At least is sure to strike, And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like! You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What's death?—You'll love me yet!


by Robert Browning | |

Home Thoughts From The Sea

 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;
"Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?"—say,
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.


by Robert Browning | |

Misconceptions

 This is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,— So to be singled out, built in, and sung to! This is a heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, Meet for love's regal dalmatic.
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on— Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!