(The Death Of Robert Browning) Now dumb is he who waked the world… And voiceless hangs the world besi… Our words are sobs, our cry of pra… We are the smitten mortal, we the…

Grey with all honours of age! but… As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard… Tender to tearfulness—childlike, a… Here beats true English blood ric… ground.

When April with her wild blue eye Comes dancing over the grass, And all the crimson buds so shy Peep out to see her pass; As lightly she loosens her showery…

They say, that Pity in Love’s ser… A porter at the rosy temple’s gate… I missed him going: but it is my f… To come upon him now beside his we… Whereby I know that I Love’s tem…

Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. Nothing harms beneath the leaves More than waves a swimmer cleaves. Toss your heart up with the lark,

An inspiration caught from dubious… Filled him, and mystic wrynesses h… For they lead farther than the sin… Wave subtler promise when desire p… The moon of cloud discoloured was…

Not yet had History’s Aetna smoke… And low the Gallic Giantess lay e… While overhead in ordered set and… Her kingly crowns immutably defile… Effulgent on funereal piled

Now the North wind ceases, The warm South-west awakes; Swift fly the fleeces, Thick the blossom-flakes. Now hill to hill has made the stri…

1—I In middle age an evil thing Befell Archduchess Anne: She looked outside her wedding-rin… Upon a princely man.

Sleek as a lizard at round of a st… The look of her heart slipped out… Sweet on her lord her soft eyes sh… As innocents clear of a shade of s… He laid a finger under her chin,

Out in the yellow meadows, where t… Hums by us with the honey of the… And showers of sweet notes from th… Are dropping like a noon-dew, wand… Or is it now? or was it then? for…

[Iliad, B. XIV. V. 394] Not the sea-wave so bellows abroad… Whipped from the sea’s deeps up by… Nay, nor is ever the roar of the f… Down along mountain-glades, when i…

Ask, is Love divine, Voices all are, ay. Question for the sign, There’s a common sigh. Would we, through our years,

Rich labour is the struggle to be… While we make sure the struggle ca… Else better were it in some bower… Slothful to swing, contending with… You point at Wisdom fixed on loft…

It chanced his lips did meet her f… She had no blush, but slanted down… Shamed nature, then, confesses lov… And most she punishes the tender f… Who will believe what honours her…