Maxioms by 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.
Only I discern
Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn.
Only I discern
Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn.
God's in His Heaven--
All's right with the world!
God's in His Heaven--
All's right with the world!
It is the glory and good of Art,
That Art remains the one way possible
Of speaking read more
It is the glory and good of Art,
That Art remains the one way possible
Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
From the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
From the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
