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Robert Browning

Earl Mertoun's Song

THERE 's a woman like a dewdrop, she 's so purer than the purest;
And her noble heart 's the noblest, yes, and her sure faith's the surest:
And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on depth of lustre
Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the wild-grape cluster,
Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck's rose-misted marble:
Then her voice's music ... call it the well's bubbling, the bird's warble!

And this woman says, 'My days were sunless and my nights were moonless,
Parch'd the pleasant April herbage, and the lark's heart's outbreak tuneless,
If you loved me not!' And I who (ah, for words of flame!) adore her,
Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably before her—
I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes me,
And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as hers she makes me!

 
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About the poet
Robert Browning
 
By the same poet
The Pied Piper of Hamelin
Home Thoughts, from Abroad
Home Thoughts, from the Sea
How they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix
Song from 'Paracelsus'
The Wanderers
Thus the Mayne glideth
Pippa's Song
You'll love Me yet
Porphyria's Lover
Song
In a Gondola
Meeting at Night
Parting at Morning
The Lost Mistress
The Last Ride together
Misconceptions
 
Related books
Robert Browning at amazon.com


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