Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

121. The Heretic's Tragedy 5/13/2001
122. The Italian In England 5/13/2001
123. The Laboratory 5/13/2001
124. The Laboratory-Ancien Régime 1/1/2004
125. The Lady and the Painter 3/1/2016
126. The Last Ride Together 5/13/2001
127. The Lost Leader 5/13/2001
128. The Lost Mistress 5/13/2001
129. The Patriot 5/13/2001
130. The Pied Piper Of Hamelin 5/13/2001
131. The Statue And The Bust 1/3/2003
132. The Twins 5/13/2001
133. The Wanderers 1/4/2003
134. The Year's At The Spring 1/3/2003
135. Through The Metidja To Abd-El-Kadr 5/13/2001
136. Thus The Mayne Glideth 1/4/2003
137. Time's Revenges 5/13/2001
138. To Edward Fitzgerald 12/31/2002
139. Tray 5/27/2015
140. Two In The Campagna 5/13/2001
141. Up At A Villa--Down In The City 1/1/2004
142. Verse-Making Was Least Of My Virtues 1/3/2003
143. Waring 5/13/2001
144. Why I Am A Liberal 1/3/2003
145. Women And Roses 5/13/2001
146. You'Ll Love Me Yet 1/3/2003
147. Youth And Art 5/13/2001

Comments about Robert Browning

  • Richard Tattershall (6/4/2012 3:02:00 PM)

    I always thought Browning was a man's poet. He's certainly a very special, unique one.

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    92 person did not like.
  • Stephen Holbrook-sishton (12/20/2009 5:47:00 PM)

    Browning is a much-neglected poet from the Victorian era. His 'The Patriot' is totally brilliant, not to mention his 'My Last Duchess' - a GCSE text for many. Like so many other poets he lives under the shadow of Shakespeare - we read and see his material endlessly unlike that of Browning and others. But Browning knew that and wrote anyway. His unifying influence by way of poetry and pre-Freudian psychology is unmatched.

  • p.a. noushad p.a. noushad (10/31/2008 8:22:00 AM)

    true to the spirit of our life

  • Amy Klootwyk (2/28/2007 3:43:00 PM)

    Robert Browning is such a beautiful poet- poetry never interested me until I read 'My Last Duchess' and 'Porphyria's Lover'.

Best Poem of Robert Browning

My Last Duchess

FERRARA.

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fr Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
``Fr Pandolf'' by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn ...

Read the full of My Last Duchess

Love Among The Ruins

I.

Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight, stray or stop
As they crop---
Was the site once of a city great and gay,

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