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Porphyria's Lover

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Porphyria's Lover

BY ROBERT BROWNING
    The rain set early in to-night,
           The sullen wind was soon awake,
    It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
           And did its worst to vex the lake:
           I listened with heart fit to break.
    When glided in Porphyria; straight
           She shut the cold out and the storm,
    And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
           Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
           Which done, she rose, and from her form
    Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
           And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
    Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
           And, last, she sat down by my side
           And called me. When no voice replied,
    She put my arm about her waist,
           And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
    And all her yellow hair displaced,
           And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
           And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
    Murmuring how she loved me — she
           Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
    To set its struggling passion free
           From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
           And give herself to me for ever.
    But passion sometimes would prevail,
           Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
    A sudden thought of one so pale
           For love of her, and all in vain:
           So, she was come through wind and rain.
    Be sure I looked up at her eyes
           Happy and proud; at last I knew
    Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
           Made my heart swell, and still it grew
           While I debated what to do.
    That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
           Perfectly pure and good: I found
    A thing to do, and all her hair
           In one long yellow string I wound
           Three times her little throat around,
    And strangled her. No pain felt she;
           I am quite sure she felt no pain.
    As a shut bud that holds a bee,
           I warily oped her lids: again
           Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
    And I untightened next the tress
           About her neck; her cheek once more
    Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
           I propped her head up as before,
           Only, this time my shoulder bore
    Her head, which droops upon it still:
           The smiling rosy little head,
    So glad it has its utmost will,
           That all it scorned at once is fled,
           And I, its love, am gained instead!
    Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
           Her darling one wish would be heard.
    And thus we sit together now,
           And all night long we have not stirred,
           And yet God has not said a word!
Image size
927x1255px 467.53 KB
Make
SONY
Model
DSC-P93A
Shutter Speed
10/100 second
Aperture
F/2.8
Focal Length
8 mm
ISO Speed
100
Date Taken
Jul 14, 2007, 10:21:04 AM
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