How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In lifeโs November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, Oโer a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!
Robert BrowningWhen I love most, love is disguised. In hate; and when hate is surprised, in love, then I hate most.
Robert BrowningWhen a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy.
Robert BrowningRejoice that man is hurled, From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled!
Robert Browning