Robert Browning

Two in the Compagna
                    1
I wonder do you feel today
    As I have felt since, hand in hand,
We sat down on the grass, to stray
    In spirit better through the land,
This morn of Rome and May?

                     2
For me, I touched a thought, I know,
    Has tantalized me many times,
(Like turns of thread the spiders throw
    Mocking across our path) for rhymes
To catch at and let go.

                    3
Help me to hold it!  First it left
    The yellowing fennel, run to seed
There, branching from the brickwork's cleft,
    Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed
Took up the floating weft.

                    4
Where one small orange cup amassed
    Five beetles--blind and green they grope
Among the honey-meal: and last,
    Everywhere on the grassy slope
I traced it. Hold it fast!

                    5
The champaign with its endless fleece
    Of feathery grasses everywhere!
Silence and passion, joy and peace,
    An everlasting wash of air--
Rome's ghost since her decease.

                    6
Such life here, through such lengths of hours,
    Such miracles performed in play,
Such primal naked forms of flowers,
    Such letting nature have her way
While heaven looks from its towers!

                    7
How say you?  Let us, O my dove,
    Let us be unashamed of soul,
As earth lies bare to heaven above!
    How is it under our control
To love or not to love?

                    8
I would that you were all to me,
    You that are just so much, no more.
Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free!
    Where does the fault lie?  What the core
O' the wound, since wound must be?

                    9
I would I could adopt your will,
    See with your eyes, and set my heart
Beating by yours, and drink my fill
    At your soul's springs--your part my part
In life, for good and ill.

                    10
No.  I yearn upward, touch you close,
    Then stand away.  I kiss your cheek,
Catch your soul's warmth--I pluck the rose
    And love it more than tongue can speak--
The the good minute goes.

                    11
Already how am I so far
    Out of that minute?  Must I go
Still like the thistle-ball, no bar,
    Onward, whenever light winds blow,
Fixed by no friendly star?

                    12
Just when I seemed about to learn!
    Where is the thread now?  Off again!
The old trick! Only I discern--
    Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn.

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.  I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Frà 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 and ask thus.  Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek; perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat." Such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy.  She had
A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad.
Too easily impressed;  she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries son officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace-- all and each
Would draw from her alikethe approving speech,
Or blush, at least.  She thanked men,-- good! but thanked
Somehow-- I know not how-- as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years' old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling?  Even had you skill
In speech--- which I have not-- to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"-- and if she let
Herself be lessened so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse--
E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop.Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her;  but who passed without
Much the same smile?  This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped altogether.  There she stands
As if alive.  Will 't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then.  I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object.  Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir.  Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!