Men and Women and Sordella |
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˹éÒ 282 - Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for ! my flesh, that I seek In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee ; a Man like to me, Thou shalt love and be loved by, for ever : a Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee ! See the Christ stand ! " XIX I know not too well how I found my way home in the night.
˹éÒ 53 - Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away! How a sound shall quicken content to bliss, Or a breath suspend the blood's best play, And life be a proof of this!
˹éÒ 334 - That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it.
˹éÒ 102 - Which, while I forded, — good saints, how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek, Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows, tangled in his hair ,or beard ! — It may have been a water-rat I speared, But, ugh ! it sounded like a baby's shriek.
˹éÒ 264 - And I paused, held my breath in such silence, and listened apart; And the tent shook, for mighty Saul shuddered: and sparkles 'gan dart From the jewels that woke in his turban, at once with a start, All its lordly male-sapphires, and rubies courageous at heart. So the head: but the body still moved not, still hung there erect.
˹éÒ 330 - Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, Chafes in the censer. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain, citied to the top, Crowded with culture!
˹éÒ 87 - ALL that I know Of a certain star Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue; Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue! Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled: They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world? Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.
˹éÒ 15 - I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me...
˹éÒ 343 - Bafael made a century of sonnets, Made and wrote them in a certain volume Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil Else he only used to draw Madonnas : These, the world might view — but One, the volume. Who that one, you ask ? Your heart instructs you.
˹éÒ 152 - Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides, And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, Round the ancient idol, on his base again, The grand Perhaps ! We look on helplessly.
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| ª×èÍ˹ѧÊ×Í | Men and Women and Sordella |
| ¼Ùéáµè§ | Robert Browning |
| ¼Ùé¨Ñ´¾ÔÁ¾ì | Houghton, Mifflin, 1886 |
| µé¹©ºÑºÁÒ¨Ò¡ | Harvard University |
| á»Å§à»ç¹¢éÍÁÙÅ´Ô¨Ô·ÑÅ | 1 ¾.Â. 2007 |
| Êè§ÍÍ¡¡ÒÃÍéÒ§ÍÔ§ | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |