Robert Browning

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
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Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now.

For the preacher's merit or demerit,
It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer
In read more

For the preacher's merit or demerit,
It were to be wished that the flaws were fewer
In the earthen vessel, holding treasure,
But the main thing is, does it hold good measure
Heaven soon sets right all other matters!

God's in His Heaven--
All's right with the world!

God's in His Heaven--
All's right with the world!

And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us read more

And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us to ignorance again.

For thence,--a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,--
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
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For thence,--a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,--
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.