Robert Browning

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.

Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the
gold
Used to hang and brush their read more

Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the
gold
Used to hang and brush their bosoms?

Oh, to be in England,
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
read more

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.

That low man seeks a little thing to do,
Sees it and does it;
This high man, read more

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.
That low man goes on adding one to one,
His hundreds soon hit:
His high man, aiming at a million,
Misses an unit.