Robert Browning

(7 Mai 1812 – 12 Decembrie 1889)

and his education mostly took place among his father’s 6. made him one of the foremost Victorian poets. as "juror. a collection of dramatic monologues dedicated to his wife. his most widely read work is Men and Women. especially dramatic monologues. Portraits of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning.ROBERT BROWNING Robert Browning (7 May 1812 – 12 December 1889) was an English poet and playwright whose mastery of dramatic verse. the character composes a self-defence which the reader. Today." is challenged to see through. Rather than thinking out loud. However. the meaning in a Browning dramatic monologue is not what the speaker directly reveals but what he inadvertently "gives away" about himself in the process of rationalizing past actions. in which the words not only convey setting and action but also reveal the speaker’s character. Browning was regarded as a failure for many years.000-book library. extreme and even criminally psychotic characters. or "special-pleading" his case to a silent auditor in the poem. One of his more sensational dramatic monologues is Porphyria's Lover. Browning’s fame today rests mainly on his dramatic monologues. late in life Browning’s brilliant use of dramatic monologue made him a literary icon. Robert Browning was born in Camberwell. England. no doubt for the challenge of building a sympathetic case for a character who doesn't deserve one and to cause the reader to squirm at the temptation to acquit a character who may be a homicidal psychopath. living in the shadow of his wife Elizabeth Barrett Browning. As a writer. Browning chooses some of the most debased. . Unlike a soliloquy.

Yet it is by carefully reading the far more sophisticated and cultivated rhetoric of the aristocratic and civilized Duke of My Last Duchess. perhaps the most frequently cited example of the poet's dramatic monologue form. Illustration by Kate Greenaway to the Robert Browning version of the tale. puns. as the poem he must work to distance himself from. Browning’s style. All's right with the world. such as Fra Lippo Lippi. or life-affirming qualities. assuring that in the fullness of theological time there is ample cause for celebrating life. far from remaining in a transcendent heaven. colloquial phrasing and irregular rhythms. who recites: "God's in His Heaven. which seemed modern and experimental to Victorian readers. all too aware of the arguments against the vulnerable position of one of his simple characters. S. Browning takes an ostensibly unsavory or immoral character and challenges us to discover the goodness. the latter singling out in his Cantos Browning's convoluted psychological poem Sordello about a frustrated 13-century troubadour. In other monologues. These monologues greatly influenced many later poets. is indivisible from temporal process. . and verbal play of the Metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century. that often put the speaker's contemporaneous judges to shame." Browning endorses such a position because he sees an immanent deity that. Eliot and Ezra Pound. that the attentive reader discovers the most horrific example of a mind totally mad despite its eloquence in expressing itself. The Pied Piper leads the children out of Hamelin. But he remains too much the prophet-poet and descendant of Percy Shelley to settle for the conceits. His is a modern sensibility. In The Ring and the Book Browning writes an epic-length poem in which he justifies the ways of God to humanity through twelve extended blank verse monologues spoken by the principals in a trial about a murder. including T. Ironically. owes much to his love of the seventeenth century poems of John Donne with their abrupt openings.

leaned its staff’s Burthen of honey-coloured buds to kiss And capture ’twixt the lips apart for this. his angel faces. I should think. fade slow against the sky (That’s the pale ground you’d see this sweet face by). All heaven. Waiting to see some wonder momently Grow out. meanwhile. burning shades absorb: But these are only massed there. three fingers might surround. should it wink. orb on orb Breaking its outline. perfect chin it lifts! I know.A Face If one could have that little head of hers Painted upon a background of pale gold. Up to the fruit-shaped. Such as the Tuscan’s early art prefers! No shade encroaching on the matchless mould Of those two lips. . not as when she laughs. in rifts Of heaven. stand full. Then her lithe neck. How it should waver on the pale gold ground. Correggio loves to mass. which should be opening soft In the pure profile. For that spoils all: but rather as if aloft Yon hyacinth. condensed into one eye Which fears to lose the wonder. she loves so.

A Serenade at the Villa That was I. a planet small: To secure my step from wrong. What they could my words expressed. Nor. my one! Singing helped the verses best. "Has some plague a longer lease. When the garden-voices fail To my lute I left the rest. Nor can pierce the midnight's tent Bloodlike. Any star. Light last on the evening slopes. Not a twinkle from the fly. you heard last night. And when singing's best was done. my all. So wore something bodes —- When the owls forbore a term. When life halts 'neath double loads. Patient through the watches long. Better the taskmaster's curse Earth turned in her sleep with pain. Windows fast and obdurate! . "When no moon succeeds the sun. Life was dead and so was light. That shape be where these are not? White the broad-faced hemlock-flowers: There would be another day."When life gropes Feebly for the path where fell Oh how dark your villa was. In the darkness thick and hot. When the crickets stopped their cry. Than such music on the roads! Sultrily suspired for proof: In at heaven and out again. "When the fire-fly hides its spot. Can't one even die in peace? As one shuts one's eyes on youth. Serving most with none to see. Lightning! —. Never say —. to pierce the strained and tight "One friend in that path shall be. —Shall another voice avail. some few drops of rain.where it broke the roof. the smallest one. that was I. What became of all the hopes." Not a glimmer from the worm. One to count night day for me. While some drops. "So. the East was gray. Show the final storm begun —- O my love. Tent of heaven. this struck you —. the worst has yet a worse! You heard music. When there rose no moon at all. I had passed away. Ere its first of heavy hours Proffering its help uncouth? Found me. where lightning rent. Is that face the last one sees?" Words and song and lute as well? Say.

II Yet the day wears. Heart. such alcoves to importune! . I hunt the house through We inhabit together. you see. herself!—not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain.—with such suites to explore.the iron gate Love in a Life I Room after room. Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.How the garden grudged me grass Ground its teeth to let me pass! Where I stood —.—who cares? But 'tis twilight. fear nothing. heart. And door succeeds door. thou shalt find her— Next time. for. the couch's perfume! As she brushed it. Spend my whole day in the quest. the cornice-wreath blossomed anew: Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. Such closets to search. I try the fresh fortune— Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.

friends the merest Keep much that I resign: For each glance of the eye so bright and black. dearest? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we. I noticed that. – well. Though I keep with heart’s endeavor.The Lost Mistress All’s over. I will hold your hand but as long as all may. One day more bursts them open fully – You know the red turns grey. Tomorrow we meet the same then. Though it stay in my soul for ever! – Yet I will but say what mere friends say. ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter About your cottage eaves! And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly. then: does truth sound bitter As one at first believes? Hark. when you wish the snowdrops back. – Your voice. Or only a thought stronger. Or so very little longer! . today.

Lupta. totu-i viaţă. Vorba să topim. Iubire.vorbim. Astă-noapte nu! Jalea se cuvine În adânc s-o ţiu. Dorurilor tale Să le ies în cale.fereşte! Mâine va fi asta. Ce nebuni cuvântă? Eu şi tu. Pe când noi . drept strajă. Şoimi. Faţă lângă faţă. Iubire O. nu-i bine Astfel pierdem raiul Eva şi cu mine. Graiul tău grăi-voi.. Dascăl fi-mi. Iubire. linul. Trup punând şi suflet În mâinile tale. Ia-mă cu o vrajă Fii un om şi pune-mi Braţele. Plâng puţin. De tine iubită . Păsări ce se-nfruntă. Unde-i roşu mărul Nu pândi. Iubire.. Gându-ţi voi gândi. pustiu. Iubire! Când va trebui. Uite. Somnul. Fii un zeu şi ia-mă. nesăbuită! Şi adorm.Ultimul cuvant al unei femei Să-ncetăm. chinul Ca-n trecut. Unde-a-nfipt un dinte Şarpele . Adevărul minte? Minte te răneşte.

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