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Robert Browning: Selected Poems
Robert Browning (1812 - 1889) was one of the defining figures of the Victorian age. Famous in his lifetime for his elopement and marriage to Elizabeth Barratt, his critical reputation grew steadily in the years following her early death. Browning's mastery of dramatic verse was evident throughout his career, from such chillingly unforgettable monologues as 'My Last Duchess' and 'Porphyria' to the mature work included in his collection Dramatis Personae. This selection, chosen by leading scholars, reveals the innovation, complexity and profound psychological insight that have ensured Browning's enduring reputation and his continuing appeal to readers today.
Browning: Selected Poems results from a completely fresh appraisal of the canon, text and context of the writer's work. The poems are presented in the order of their composition and in the text in which they were first published, giving a unique insight into the development of Browning's art. An introduction and chronology offer useful background material, whilst annotations and headnotes provide details of composition, publication, sources and contemporary reception. This authoritative yet accessible selection should become the first point of reference for scholar, student and general reader alike.
Browning: Selected Poems results from a completely fresh appraisal of the canon, text and context of the writer's work. The poems are presented in the order of their composition and in the text in which they were first published, giving a unique insight into the development of Browning's art. An introduction and chronology offer useful background material, whilst annotations and headnotes provide details of composition, publication, sources and contemporary reception. This authoritative yet accessible selection should become the first point of reference for scholar, student and general reader alike.
936 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 16, 2010
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About the author
Robert Browning
2,710 books449 followersRobert Browning (1812-1889) was a British poet and playwright whose mastery of dramatic verse, especially dramatic monologues, made him one of the foremost Victorian poets.
Browning began writing poetry at age 13. These poems were eventually collected, but were later destroyed by Browning himself. In 1833, Browning's "Pauline" was published and received a cool reception. Harold Bloom believes that John Stuart Mill's review of the poem pointed Browning in the direction of the dramatic monologue.
In 1845, Browning wrote a letter to the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, professing that he loved her poetry and her. In 1846, the couple eloped to Europe, eventually settling in Florence in 1847. They had a son Pen.
Upon Elizabeth Barrett Browning's death in 1861, Browning returned to London with his son. While in London, he published Dramatis Personae (1864) and The Ring and the Book (1869), both of which gained him critical priase and respect. His last book Asolando was published in 1889 when the poet was 77.
In 1889, Browning traveled to Italy to visit friends. He died in Venice on December 12 while visiting his sister.
Browning began writing poetry at age 13. These poems were eventually collected, but were later destroyed by Browning himself. In 1833, Browning's "Pauline" was published and received a cool reception. Harold Bloom believes that John Stuart Mill's review of the poem pointed Browning in the direction of the dramatic monologue.
In 1845, Browning wrote a letter to the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, professing that he loved her poetry and her. In 1846, the couple eloped to Europe, eventually settling in Florence in 1847. They had a son Pen.
Upon Elizabeth Barrett Browning's death in 1861, Browning returned to London with his son. While in London, he published Dramatis Personae (1864) and The Ring and the Book (1869), both of which gained him critical priase and respect. His last book Asolando was published in 1889 when the poet was 77.
In 1889, Browning traveled to Italy to visit friends. He died in Venice on December 12 while visiting his sister.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
October 10, 2023
Sun-treader—life and light be thine for ever;
Thou art gone from us—years go by—and spring
Gladdens, and the young earth is beautiful,
Yet thy songs come not—other bards arise,
But none like thee—they stand—thy majesties,
Like mighty works which tell some
Spirit there Hath sat regardless of neglect and scorn,
Till, its long task completed, it hath risen
And left us, never to return:
…
The air seems bright with thy past presence yet,
But thou art still for me, as thou hast been
When I have stood with thee, as on a throne
With all thy dim creations gathered round
Like mountains,—and I felt of mould like them,
And creatures of my own were mixed with them,
Like things half-lived, catching and giving life.
…
Yet, Sun-treader, all hail!—from my heart’s heart
I bid thee hail!—e’en in my wildest dreams,
I am proud to feel I would have thrown up all
The wreathes of fame which seemed o’erhanging me,
To have seen thee, for a moment, as thou art.
A need, a trust, a yearning after God,
A feeling I have analysed but late,
But it existed, and was reconciled
With a neglect of all I deemed his laws,
Which yet, when seen in others, I abhorred.
I felt as one beloved, and so shut in
From fear—and thence I date my trust in signs
And omens—for I saw God every where;
And I can only lay it to the fruit
Of a sad after-time that I could doubt
Even his being—having always felt
His presence—never acting from myself,
Still trusting in a hand that leads me through
All danger;
Thou art gone from us—years go by—and spring
Gladdens, and the young earth is beautiful,
Yet thy songs come not—other bards arise,
But none like thee—they stand—thy majesties,
Like mighty works which tell some
Spirit there Hath sat regardless of neglect and scorn,
Till, its long task completed, it hath risen
And left us, never to return:
…
The air seems bright with thy past presence yet,
But thou art still for me, as thou hast been
When I have stood with thee, as on a throne
With all thy dim creations gathered round
Like mountains,—and I felt of mould like them,
And creatures of my own were mixed with them,
Like things half-lived, catching and giving life.
…
Yet, Sun-treader, all hail!—from my heart’s heart
I bid thee hail!—e’en in my wildest dreams,
I am proud to feel I would have thrown up all
The wreathes of fame which seemed o’erhanging me,
To have seen thee, for a moment, as thou art.
A need, a trust, a yearning after God,
A feeling I have analysed but late,
But it existed, and was reconciled
With a neglect of all I deemed his laws,
Which yet, when seen in others, I abhorred.
I felt as one beloved, and so shut in
From fear—and thence I date my trust in signs
And omens—for I saw God every where;
And I can only lay it to the fruit
Of a sad after-time that I could doubt
Even his being—having always felt
His presence—never acting from myself,
Still trusting in a hand that leads me through
All danger;
August 18, 2019
4.5 stars
January 18, 2023
« Mr. Sludge, the Medium » is now a favorite. It really questions those who love to judge others.
September 29, 2013
Wonderful poems from a very troubled genius ,really emotional
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews