The Lost Leader

I.

Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;
They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was theirs who so little allowed:
How all our copper had gone for his service!
Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud!
We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
Made him our pattern to live and to die!
Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,
Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from their graves!
He alone breaks from the van and the free-men,
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

II.

We shall march prospering, not thro his presence;
Songs may inspirit us, not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done, while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more foot-path untrod,
One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Lifes night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!
Best fight on well, for we taught him strike gallantly,
Aim at our heart ere we pierce through his own;
Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!

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

Confessions

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

Garden-Fancies - II. Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

Bad Dreams IV

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

A Pretty Woman

Robert Browning, Simple Poetry

English

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Love Among The Ruins

I.

Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward thro the twilight, stray or stop
As they crop.

II.

Was the site once of a city great and gay,
(So they say)
Of our countrys very capital, its prince
Ages since
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
Peace or war.

III.

Now, the country does not even boast a tree,
As you see,
To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
From the hills
Intersect and give a name to, (else they run
Into one)

IV.

Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
Up like fires
Oer the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
Bounding all
Made of marbl...

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Bifurcation

We were two lovers; let me lie by her,
My tomb beside her tomb. On hers inscribe,
I loved him; but my reason bade prefer
Duty to love, reject the tempters bribe
Of rose and lily when each path diverged,
And either I must pace to lifes far end
As love should lead me, or, as duty urged,
Plod the worn causeway arm-in-arm with friend.
So, truth turned falsehood: How I loathe a flower,
How prize the pavement! still caressed his ear,
The deafish friends, through lifes day, hour by hour,
As he laughed (coughing). Ay, it would appear!
But deep within my heart of hearts there hid
Ever the confidence, amends for all,
That heaven repairs what wrong earths journey did,
When love from life-long exile comes at call.
Duty and love, one broad way, were the best,

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Any Wife To Any Husband

I

My love, this is the bitterest, that thou
Who art all truth and who dost love me now
As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say
Shouldst love so truly and couldst love me still
A whole long life through, had but love its will,
Would death that leads me from thee brook delay!

II

I have but to be by thee, and thy hand
Would never let mine go, thy heart withstand
The beating of my heart to reach its place.
When should I look for thee and feel thee gone?
When cry for the old comfort and find none?
Never, I know! Thy soul is in thy face.

III

Oh, I should fade, tis willed so! might I save,
Galdly I would, whatever beauty gave
Joy to thy sense, for that was precious too.
It is not to be granted. But the soul
Whence t...

Robert Browning

Cristina

I.

She should never have looked at me
If she meant I should not love her!
There are plenty . . . men, you call such,
I suppose . . . she may discover
All her soul to, if she pleases,
And yet leave much as she found them:
But Im not so, and she knew it
When she fixed me, glancing round them,

II.

What? To fix me thus meant nothing?
But I cant tell . . . theres my weakness . . .
What her look said! no vile cant, sure,
About need to strew the bleakness
Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed.
That the sea feels no strange yearning
That such souls have, most to lavish
Where theres chance of least returning.

III.

Oh, were sunk enough here, God knows!
But not quite so sunk that moments,
Sure tho seld...

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A Serenade At The Villa

I.
That was I, you heard last night,
When there rose no moon at all,
Nor, to pierce the strained and tight
Tent of heaven, a planet small:
Life was dead and so was light.

II.
Not a twinkle from the fly,
Not a glimmer from the worm;
When the crickets stopped their cry,
When the owls forbore a term,
You heard music; that was I.

III.
Earth turned in her sleep with pain,
Sultrily suspired for proof:
In at heaven and out again,
Lightning! where it broke the roof,
Bloodlike, some few drops of rain.

IV.
What they could my words expressed,
O my love, my all, my one!
Singing helped the verses best,
And when singings best was done,
To my lute I left the rest.

V.
So wore night; the East was gray,
...

Robert Browning

Saul

Said Abner, At last thou art come!
Ere I tell, ere thou speak,
Kiss my cheek, wish me well! Then I wished it,
And did kiss his cheek.
And he, Since the King, O my friend,
For thy countenance sent,
Nor drunken nor eaten have we;
Nor until from his tent
Thou return with the joyful assurance
The King liveth yet,
Shall our lip with the honey be brightened,
The water be wet.

For out of the black mid-tents silence,
A space of three days,
No sound hath escaped to thy servants,
Of prayer nor of praise,
To betoken that Saul and the Spirit
Have ended their strife,
And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch
Sinks back upon life.

Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved!
Gods child with his dew
On thy gracious gold hair, and t...

Robert Browning