Robert Browning Poems

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fr Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands
...

Let's contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
---Only sleep!
...

Escape me?
Never---
Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you,
...

That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!
...

Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!

How he lies in his rights of a man!
...

The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
...

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
...

Oh, what a dawn of day!
How the March sun feels like May!
All is blue again
After last night's rain,
...

So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
...

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.
...