A Lovers' Quarrel
I.
Oh,
what
a
dawn
of
day!
How
the
March
sun
feels
like
May!
All
is
blue
again
After
last
night's
rain,
And
the
South
dries
the
hawthorn-spray.
Only,
my
Love's
away!
I'd
as
lief
that
the
blue
were
grey,
II.
Runnels,
which
rillets
swell,
Must
be
dancing
down
the
dell,
With
a
foaming
head
On
the
beryl
bed
Paven
smooth
as
a
hermit's
cell;
Each
with
a
tale
to
tell,
Could
my
Love
but
attend
as
well.
III.
Dearest,
three
months
ago!
When
we
lived
blocked-up
with
snow,—-
When
the
wind
would
edge
In
and
in
his
wedge,
In,
as
far
as
the
point
could
go—-
Not
to
our
ingle,
though,
Where
we
loved
each
the
other
so!
IV.
Laughs
with
so
little
cause!
We
devised
games
out
of
straws.
We
would
try
and
trace
One
another's
face
In
the
ash,
as
an
artist
draws;
Free
on
each
other's
flaws,
How
we
chattered
like
two
church
daws!
V.
What's
in
the
`Times''?—-a
scold
At
the
Emperor
deep
and
cold;
He
has
taken
a
bride
To
his
gruesome
side,
That's
as
fair
as
himself
is
bold:
There
they
sit
ermine-stoled,
And
she
powders
her
hair
with
gold.
VI.
Fancy
the
Pampas'
sheen!
Miles
and
miles
of
gold
and
green
Where
the
sunflowers
blow
In
a
solid
glow,
And—-to
break
now
and
then
the
screen—-
Black
neck
and
eyeballs
keen,
Up
a
wild
horse
leaps
between!
VII.
Try,
will
our
table
turn?
Lay
your
hands
there
light,
and
yearn
Till
the
yearning
slips
Thro'
the
finger-tips
In
a
fire
which
a
few
discern,
And
a
very
few
feel
burn,
And
the
rest,
they
may
live
and
learn!
VIII.
Then
we
would
up
and
pace,
For
a
change,
about
the
place,
Each
with
arm
o'er
neck:
'Tis
our
quarter-deck,
We
are
seamen
in
woeful
case.
Help
in
the
ocean-space!
Or,
if
no
help,
we'll
embrace.
IX.
See,
how
she
looks
now,
dressed
In
a
sledging-cap
and
vest!
'Tis
a
huge
fur
cloak—-
Like
a
reindeer's
yoke
Falls
the
lappet
along
the
breast:
Sleeves
for
her
arms
to
rest,
Or
to
hang,
as
my
Love
likes
best.
X.
Teach
me
to
flirt
a
fan
As
the
Spanish
ladies
can,
Or
I
tint
your
lip
With
a
burnt
stick's
tip
And
you
turn
into
such
a
man!
Just
the
two
spots
that
span
Half
the
bill
of
the
young
male
swan.
XI.
Dearest,
three
months
ago
When
the
mesmerizer
Snow
With
his
hand's
first
sweep
Put
the
earth
to
sleep:
'Twas
a
time
when
the
heart
could
show
All—-how
was
earth
to
know,
'Neath
the
mute
hand's
to-and-fro?
XII.
Dearest,
three
months
ago
When
we
loved
each
other
so,
Lived
and
loved
the
same
Till
an
evening
came
When
a
shaft
from
the
devil's
bow
Pierced
to
our
ingle-glow,
And
the
friends
were
friend
and
foe!
XIII.
Not
from
the
heart
beneath—-
'Twas
a
bubble
born
of
breath,
Neither
sneer
nor
vaunt,
Nor
reproach
nor
taunt.
See
a
word,
how
it
severeth!
Oh,
power
of
life
and
death
In
the
tongue,
as
the
Preacher
saith!
XIV.
Woman,
and
will
you
cast
For
a
word,
quite
off
at
last
Me,
your
own,
your
You,—-
Since,
as
truth
is
true,
I
was
You
all
the
happy
past—-
Me
do
you
leave
aghast
With
the
memories
We
amassed?
XV.
Love,
if
you
knew
the
light
That
your
soul
casts
in
my
sight,
How
I
look
to
you
For
the
pure
and
true
And
the
beauteous
and
the
right,—-
Bear
with
a
moment's
spite
When
a
mere
mote
threats
the
white!
XVI.
What
of
a
hasty
word?
Is
the
fleshly
heart
not
stirred
By
a
worm's
pin-prick
Where
its
roots
are
quick?
See
the
eye,
by
a
fly's
foot
blurred—-
Ear,
when
a
straw
is
heard
Scratch
the
brain's
coat
of
curd!
XVII.
Foul
be
the
world
or
fair
More
or
less,
how
can
I
care?
'Tis
the
world
the
same
For
my
praise
or
blame,
And
endurance
is
easy
there.
Wrong
in
the
one
thing
rare—-
Oh,
it
is
hard
to
bear!
XVIII.
Here's
the
spring
back
or
close,
When
the
almond-blossom
blows:
We
shall
have
the
word
In
a
minor
third
There
is
none
but
the
cuckoo
knows:
Heaps
of
the
guelder-rose!
I
must
bear
with
it,
I
suppose.
XIX.
Could
but
November
come,
Were
the
noisy
birds
struck
dumb
At
the
warning
slash
Of
his
driver's-lash—-
I
would
laugh
like
the
valiant
Thumb
Facing
the
castle
glum
And
the
giant's
fee-faw-fum!
XX.
Then,
were
the
world
well
stripped
Of
the
gear
wherein
equipped
We
can
stand
apart,
Heart
dispense
with
heart
In
the
sun,
with
the
flowers
unnipped,—-
Oh,
the
world's
hangings
ripped,
We
were
both
in
a
bare-walled
crypt!
XXI.
Each
in
the
crypt
would
cry
``But
one
freezes
here!
and
why?
``When
a
heart,
as
chill,
``At
my
own
would
thrill
``Back
to
life,
and
its
fires
out-fly?
``Heart,
shall
we
live
or
die?
``The
rest.
.
.
.
settle
by-and-by!''
XXII.
So,
she'd
efface
the
score,
And
forgive
me
as
before.
It
is
twelve
o'clock:
I
shall
hear
her
knock
In
the
worst
of
a
storm's
uproar,
I
shall
pull
her
through
the
door,
I
shall
have
her
for
evermore!
Robert Browning
Robert Browning (born May 7, 1812, London—died Dec. 12, 1889, Venice) major English poet of the Victorian age, noted for his mastery of dramatic monologue and psychological portraiture. His most noted work was The Ring and the Book (1868–69), the story of a Roman murder trial in 12 books. Through all the vicissitudes of critical reputation, however, Browning’s major contribution to the canon of children’s literature, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” has retained its popular audience. At the time of his death in 1889, he was one of the most popular poets in England.