Robert Browning

It is the glory and good of Art,
That Art remains the one way possible
Of speaking read more

It is the glory and good of Art,
That Art remains the one way possible
Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.

Day!
Faster and more fast,
O'er night's brim, day boils at last;
Boils, pure read more

Day!
Faster and more fast,
O'er night's brim, day boils at last;
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim.

Let my hand,
This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend;
Aprile! Hand-in-hand with you, Aprile!

Let my hand,
This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend;
Aprile! Hand-in-hand with you, Aprile!

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.

Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.

Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.