The Poetical Works of Robert Browning ...: Pauline. Paracelsus. Strafford. 1872

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Smith, Elder and Company, 1872

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237 psl. - My sons, ye would not be my death? Go dig The white-grape vineyard where the oil-press stood, Drop water gently till the surface sink, And if ye find . . . Ah God, I know not, I! ... Bedded in store of rotten fig-leaves soft, And corded up in a tight olive-frail, Some lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli, Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape, Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast.
218 psl. - So, boy, you're minded," quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth, 't was refection-time,— "To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce" . . . "the mouthful of bread?" thought I; By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me; I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to — all at eight years old.
144 psl. - What is the point where himself lays stress ? Does the precept run " Believe in good, In justice, truth, now understood For the first time " ? — or, " Believe in me, Who lived and died, yet essentially Am Lord of Life " ? Whoever can take The same to his heart and for mere love's sake Conceive of the love, — that man obtains A new truth ; no conviction gains Of an old one only, made intense By a fresh appeal to his faded sense.
238 psl. - Dying in state and by such slow degrees, I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook, And stretch my feet forth straight as stone can point...
219 psl. - ... admiration, half for his beard, and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm, Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head, (Which the intense eyes looked through) came at eve On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf, Her pair of ear-rings and a bunch of flowers (The brute took growling) prayed, and so was gone.
152 psl. - For the preacher's merit or demerit, It were to be wished the flaws were fewer In the earthen vessel, holding treasure, Which lies as safe in a golden ewer; But the main thing is, does it hold good measure? Heaven soon sets right all other matters!
226 psl. - The convent's friends and gives them a long day, And Job, I must have him there past mistake, The man of Uz (and Us without the z, Painters who need his patience). Well, all these Secured at their...
215 psl. - I AM poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face.
143 psl. - Take all in a word : the truth in God's breast Lies trace for trace upon ours impressed : Though he is so bright and we so dim, We are made in his image to witness him...
224 psl. - Interpret God to all of you! oh, oh, It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us, Nor blank — it means intensely, and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink.

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