Maxioms by Robert Browning
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.
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?
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven
What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven
What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
