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    The Poetry of Robert Browning
    The Poetry of Robert Browning
    The Poetry of Robert Browning
    Ebook101 pages1 hour

    The Poetry of Robert Browning

    By Robert Browning

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    With classics such as ‘My Last Duchess’ and ‘The Pied Piper Of Hamelin’ Robert Browning’s status as one of the great Victorian Poets will always be secure in popular culture. For the more literary he is considered a master of dramatic verse and dramatic monologues. It is interesting to note that his career bloomed late. Indeed it was only after the death of his wife Elizabeth in 1861 and his return to England from their life in Italy that his work came into wider acceptance and critical acclaim. In the last years of his life he recorded part of a poem on a wax cylinder which was played after his death. It was said to be the first time anyone’s voice had been heard from beyond the grave!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateMar 4, 2014
    ISBN9781783949816

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      Book preview

      The Poetry of Robert Browning - Robert Browning

      The Poetry Of Robert Browning

      Volume 1

      With classics such as ‘My Last Duchess’ and ‘The Pied Piper Of Hamelin’ Robert Browning, born on May 17th 1812 in Camberwell in London status as one of the great Victorian Poets will always be secure in popular culture.  For the more literary he is considered a master of dramatic verse and dramatic monologues.  It is interesting to note that his career bloomed late. Indeed it was only after the death of his wife Elizabeth in 1861 and his return to England from their life in Italy that his work came into wider acceptance and critical acclaim.  In the last years of his life he recorded part of a poem on a wax cylinder which was played after his death. It was said to be the first time anyone’s voice had been heard from beyond the grave!

      Index Of Poems

      Home Thoughts From Abroad

      Now

      Among the Rocks

      The Pied Piper Of Hamelin

      The Last Ride Together

      The Year’s At The Spring

      My Last Duchess

      A Woman's Last Word

      A Lovers' Quarrel

      Among the Rocks

      Confessions

      Life in a Bottle

      Women And Roses

      Fears And Scruples

      Prospice

      Epilogue

      In Three Days

      Earth's Immortalities

      Patriot, The

      The Lost Mistress

      Memorabilia

      Never The Time And The Place

      Home Thoughts, from the Sea

      Verse-Making Was Least of My Virtues

      Nationality In Drinks

      Respectability

      The Lost Leader

      Time's Revenges

      The Heretic's Tragedy

      The Guardian-Angel

      The Italian In England

      Abt Vogler

      The Flight Of The Duchess

      Home Thoughts, From Abroad

      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!

      And after April, when May follows,

      And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!

      Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

      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

      The first fine careless rapture!

      And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,

      All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

      The buttercups, the little children's dower

      —Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! 

      Now

      Out of your whole life give but a moment!

      All of your life that has gone before,

      All to come after it, so you ignore,

      So you make perfect the present, condense,

      In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment,

      Thought and feeling and soul and sense,

      Merged in a moment which gives me at last

      You around me for once, you beneath me, above me

      Me, sure that, despite of time future, time past,

      This tick of life-time's one moment you love me!

      How long such suspension may linger? Ah, Sweet,

      The moment eternal - just that and no more

      When ecstasy's utmost we clutch at the core,

      While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and lips meet! 

      Among the Rocks

      Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, 

      This autumn morning! How he sets his bones 

      To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet 

      For the ripple to run over in its mirth; 

      Listening the while, where on the heap of stones 

      The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. 

      That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; 

      Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. 

      If you loved only what were worth your love, 

      Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: 

      Make the low nature better by your throes! 

      Give earth yourself, go up for gain above! 

      The Pied Piper Of Hamelin

      I.

      Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,

      By famous Hanover city;

      The river Weser, deep and wide,

      Washes its wall on the southern side;

      A pleasanter spot you never spied;

      But, when begins my ditty,

      Almost five hundred years ago,

      To see the townsfolk suffer so

      From vermin, was a pity.

      II.

      Rats!

      They fought the dogs and killed the cats,

      And bit the babies in the cradles,

      And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

      And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,

      Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

      Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,

      And even spoiled the women's chats

      By drowning their speaking

      With shrieking and squeaking

      In fifty different sharps and flats.

      III.

      At last the people in a body

      To the Town Hall came flocking:

      'Tis clear,'' cried they, our Mayor's a noddy;

      "And as for our Corporation - shocking.

      "To think we buy gowns lined with ermine

      "For dolts that can't or won't determine

      "What's best to rid us of our vermin!

      "You hope, because you're old and obese,

      "To find in the furry civic robe ease?

      "Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking

      "To find the remedy we're lacking,

      "Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!''

      At this the Mayor and Corporation

      Quaked with a mighty consternation.

      IV.

      An hour they sat in council,

      At length the Mayor broke silence:

      "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell,

      "I wish I were a mile hence!

      "It's easy to bid one rack one's brain

      "I'm sure my poor head aches again,

      "I've scratched it so, and all in vain.

      "Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!''

      Just as he said this, what should hap

      At the chamber door but a gentle tap?

      Bless us,'' cried the Mayor, what's that?''

      (With the Corporation as he sat,

      Looking little though wondrous fat;

      Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister

      Than a too-long-opened oyster,

      Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous

      For a plate of turtle green and glutinous)

      "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?

      "Anything like the sound of a rat

      "Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!''

      V.

      "Come in!'' the

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