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1 " In this world, who can do a thing, will not;And who would do it, cannot, I perceive:Yet the will's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power —And thus we half-men struggle. "
― Robert Browning , Robert Browning's Poetry
2 " A lion may die of an ass's kick. "
3 " Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free! "
4 " If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing god invents "
5 " The rain set early in tonight,The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite,And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break.When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm,And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her formWithdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untiedHer hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied,She put my arm about her waist,And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced,And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,Murmuring how she loved me — she Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me forever.But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could tonight's gay feast restrainA sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain:So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyesHappy and proud; at last l knew Porphyria worshiped me: surpriseMade my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do.That moment she was mine, mine, fair,Perfectly pure and good: I foundA thing to do, and all her hairIn one long yellow string l wound Three times her little throat around,And strangled her. No pain felt she;I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee,I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.And l untightened next the tress About her neck; her cheek once moreBlushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder boreHer head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head,So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead!Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard.And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred,And yet God has not said aword! "
6 " My whole life long I learn'd to love,This hour my utmost art I prove.And speak my passion—— heaven or hell?She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well! "
7 " 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. "