Robert Browning

I give the fight up; let there be an end,
A privacy, an obscure nook for me,
read more

I give the fight up; let there be an end,
A privacy, an obscure nook for me,
I want to be forgotten even by God.

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
read more

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.

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance,
Rests never on the track until it reach
Delinquency.

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance,
Rests never on the track until it reach
Delinquency.

Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat;
read more

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.