5 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 10 Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, 15 I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. Robert Browning 1812-1889 MY LAST DUCHESS FERRARA (First published, 1836) That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 5 Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by 10 The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, 66 Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot 15 Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Frà Pandolf chanced to say Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much,” or "Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff 20 Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart-how shall I say?—too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 25 Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace-all and each 30 Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men,-good! but thanked Somehow I know not how-as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame 35 This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech (which I have not)—to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark"-and if she let 40 Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, -E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without 45 Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet The Count your master's known munificence 50 Is ample warrant that no just pretense Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, 55 Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! SONG (From Pippa Passes, 1841) The year 's at the spring The hillside 's dew-pearled; All 's right with the world! HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD (From Bells and Pomegranates No. VII., 1845) I. Oh, to be in England now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England sees, some morn ing, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, 5 While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England-now! II. And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 10 Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over Lest you should think he never could recapture 15 And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL: A PICTURE AT FANO (From Men and Women, 1855) I. Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave That child, when thou hast done with him, for me! Let me sit all the day here, that when eve Shall find performed thy special ministry, 5 And time come for departure, thou, suspending Thy flight, may'st see another child for tending, Another still, to quiet and retrieve. II. Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more, From where thou stand'st now, to where I gaze, 10 And suddenly my head be covered o'er With those wings, white above the child who prays Now on that tomb-and I shall feel thee guard ing Me, out of all the world; for me, discarding III. 15 I would not look up thither past thy head Because the door opes, like that child, I know, For I should have thy gracious face instead, Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together, 20 And lift them up to pray, and gently tether Me as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread? 25 30 IV. If this was ever granted, I would rest My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast, Back to its proper size again, and smoothing V. How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired! After thy healing, with such different eyes, |