Arcades Ambo

A.
You blame me that I ran away?
Why, Sir, the enemy advanced:
Balls flew about, and who can say
But one, if I stood firm, had glanced
In my direction? Cowardice?
I only know we dont live twice,
Therefore, shun death, is my advice.

B.
Shun death at all risks? Well, at some
True, I myself, Sir, though I scold
The cowardly, by no means come
Under reproof as overbold
I, who would have no end of brutes
Cut up alive to guess what suits
My case and saves my toe from shoots.

Robert Browning

Robert Browning was an English poet and playwright whose mastery of dramatic verse, especially dramatic monologues, made him one of the foremost Victorian poets. His work was initially harshly criticized, but he gained recognition later in life. He is best known for works such as "The Ring and the Book" and "Men and Women" which exhibit his deep understanding of human character and psychological insight.

Robert Browning

A Tale - Epilogue To "The Two Poets Of Croisic."

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

Asolando - Epilogue

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

Respectability

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

Pan And Luna

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

English

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Instans Tyrannus

I.
Of the million or two, more or less,
I rule and possess,
One man, for some cause undefined,
Was least to my mind.

II.
I struck him, he grovelled of course,
For, what was his force?
I pinned him to earth with my weight
And persistence of hate:
And he lay, would not moan, would not curse,
As his lot might be worse.

III.
Were the object less mean, would he stand
At the swing of my hand!
For obscurity helps him and blots
The hole where he squats.
So, I set my five wits on the stretch
To inveigle the wretch.
All in vain! Gold and jewels I threw,
Still he couched there perdue;
I tempted his blood and his flesh,
Hid in roses my mesh,
Choicest cates and the flagons best spilth,
Still he kept to his filth.
...

Robert Browning

After

Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!
How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And, absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance, both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold
His outrage, Gods patience, mans scorn
Were so easily borne!

I stand here now, he lies in his place:
Cover the face!

Robert Browning

Before

I.
Let them fight it out, friend! things have gone too far.
God must judge the couple: leave them as they are
Whichever ones the guiltless, to his glory,
And whichever one the guilts with, to my story!

II.
Why, you would not bid men, sunk in such a slough,
Strike no arm out further, stick and stink as now,
Leaving right and wrong to settle the embroilment,
Heaven with snaky hell, in torture and entoilment?

III.
Whos the culprit of them? How must he conceive
God, the queen he caps to, laughing in his sleeve,
Tis but decent to profess oneself beneath her:
Still, one must not be too much in earnest, either!

IV.
Better sin the whole sin, sure that God observes;
Then go live his life out! Life will try his nerves,
When the sky, which...

Robert Browning

Prospice

Fear death? to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall,
Though a battle s to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore,
And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad lifes arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.
For sudden the worst turns th...

Robert Browning

Apparent Failure

We shall soon lose a celebrated building.
- Paris Newspaper.



I.

No, for I ll save it! Seven years since,
I passed through Paris, stopped a day
To see the baptism of your Prince;
Saw, made my bow, and went my way
Walking the heat and headache off,
I took the Seine-side, you surmise,
Thought of the Congress, Gortschakoff,
Cavours appeal and Buols replies,
So sauntered till what met my eyes?

II.

Only the Doric little Morgue!
The dead-house where you show your drowned
Petrarchs Vaucluse makes proud the Sorgue,
Your Morgue has made the Seine renowned.
One pays ones debt in such a case;
I plucked up heart and entered, stalked,
Keeping a tolerable face
Compared with some whose cheeks were chalked

Robert Browning

How It Strikes A Contemporary

I only knew one poet in my life:
And this, or something like it, was his way.

You saw go up and down Valladolid,
A man of mark, to know next time you saw.
His very serviceable suit of black
Was courtly once and conscientious still,
And many might have worn it, though none did:
The cloak that somewhat shone and shewed the threads
Had purpose, and the ruff, significance.
He walked and tapped the pavement with his cane,
Scenting the world, looking it full in face,
An old dog, bald and blindish, at his heels.
They turned up, now, the alley by the church,
That leads no whither; now, they breathed themselves
On the main promenade just at the wrong time.
Youd come upon his scrutinising hat,
Making a peaked shade blacker than itself
Against the single wind...

Robert Browning