In A Year
Never any more,
While I live,
Need I hope to see his face
Once his love grown chill,
Mine may strive:
Bitterly we re-embrace,
Was it something said,
Vexed him? was it touch of hand,
Turn of head?
Strange! that very way
I as little understand
When I sewed or drew,
How he looked as if I sung,
If I spoke a word,
First of all
Up his cheek the colour sprang,
Then he heard.
Sitting by my side,
At my feet,
So he breathed but air I breathed,
I, too, at love's brim
Touched the sweet:
I would die if death bequeathed
Sweet to him.
``Speak, I love thee best!''
``Let thy love my own foretell!''
``Clasp my heart on thine
``Since upon thy soul as well
Was it wrong to own,
Why should all the giving prove
I had wealth and ease,
Since my lover gave me love,
I gave these.
That was all I meant,
---To be just,
And the passion I had raised,
Since he chose to change
Gold for dust,
If I gave him what he praised
Was it strange?
Would he loved me yet,
On and on,
While I found some way undreamed
---Paid my debt!
Gave more life and more,
Till, all gone,
He should smile ``She never seemed
``What, she felt the while,
``Must I think?
``Love's so different with us men!''
He should smile:
``Dying for my sake---
``White and pink!
``Can't we touch these bubbles then
``But they break?''
Dear, the pang is brief,
Do thy part,
Have thy pleasure! How perplexed
Well, this cold clay clod
Was man's heart:
Crumble it, and what comes next?
Is it God?
Robert Browning's Other Poems
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