Robert Browning
Robert Browning (1812-1889) was a British poet and playwright whose mastery of dramatic verse, especially dramatic monologues, made him one of the foremost Victorian poets.
Browning began writing poetry at age 13. These poems were eventually collected, but were later destroyed by Browning himself. In 1833, Browning's "Pauline" was published and received a cool reception. Harold Bloom believes that John Stuart Mill's review of the poem pointed Browning in the direction of the dramatic monologue.
In 1845, Browning wrote a letter to the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, professing that he loved her poetry and her. In 1846, the couple eloped to Europe, eventually settling in Florence in 1847. They had a son Pen.
Upon Elizabeth Barrett Browning's death in 1861, Browning returned to London with his son. While in London, he published Dramatis Personae (1864) and The Ring and the Book (1869), both of which gained him critical priase and respect. His last book Asolando was published in 1889 when the poet was 77.
In 1889, Browning traveled to Italy to visit friends. He died in Venice on December 12 while visiting his sister.
“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!”
“Baik untuk memaafkan, lebih baik lagi untuk melupakan.”
“If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing god invents”
“My sun sets to rise again.”
“Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her ”
“What's the earthWith all its art, verse, music, worth —Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?”
“God is the perfect poet.”
“I know what I want and what I might gain, and yet, how profitless to know.”
“The rain set early in tonight,The sullen wind was soon awake,It tore the elm-tops down for spite,And did its best to vex the lake:I listened with heart fit to break.When glided in Porphyria; straightShe shut the cold out and the storm,And kneeled and made the cheerless grateBlaze up and all the cottage warm;”
“Women hate a debt as men a gift.”
“There is an inmost center in us all, where truth abides in fullness;....and, to know, rather consists in opening out a way where the imprisoned splendor may escape, then in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.”
“Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,Or what's a heaven for?”