A Serenade At The Villa
I.
That
was
I,
you
heard
last
night,
When
there
rose
no
moon
at
all,
Nor,
to
pierce
the
strained
and
tight
Tent
of
heaven,
a
planet
small:
Life
was
dead
and
so
was
light.
II.
Not
a
twinkle
from
the
fly,
Not
a
glimmer
from
the
worm;
When
the
crickets
stopped
their
cry,
When
the
owls
forbore
a
term,
You
heard
music;
that
was
I.
III.
Earth
turned
in
her
sleep
with
pain,
Sultrily
suspired
for
proof:
In
at
heaven
and
out
again,
Lightning!—-where
it
broke
the
roof,
Bloodlike,
some
few
drops
of
rain.
IV.
What
they
could
my
words
expressed,
O
my
love,
my
all,
my
one!
Singing
helped
the
verses
best,
And
when
singing's
best
was
done,
To
my
lute
I
left
the
rest.
V.
So
wore
night;
the
East
was
gray,
White
the
broad-faced
hemlock-flowers:
There
would
be
another
day;
Ere
its
first
of
heavy
hours
Found
me,
I
had
passed
away.
VI.
What
became
of
all
the
hopes,
Words
and
song
and
lute
as
well?
Say,
this
struck
you—-``When
life
gropes
``Feebly
for
the
path
where
fell
``Light
last
on
the
evening
slopes,
VII.
``One
friend
in
that
path
shall
be,
``To
secure
my
step
from
wrong;
``One
to
count
night
day
for
me,
``Patient
through
the
watches
long,
``Serving
most
with
none
to
see.''
VIII.
Never
say—-as
something
bodes—-
``So,
the
worst
has
yet
a
worse!
``When
life
halts
'neath
double
loads,
``Better
the
taskmaster's
curse
``Than
such
music
on
the
roads!
IX.
``When
no
moon
succeeds
the
sun,
``Nor
can
pierce
the
midnight's
tent
``Any
star,
the
smallest
one,
``While
some
drops,
where
lightning
rent,
``Show
the
final
storm
begun—-
X.
``When
the
fire-fly
hides
its
spot,
``When
the
garden-voices
fail
``In
the
darkness
thick
and
hot,—-
``Shall
another
voice
avail,
``That
shape
be
where
these
are
not?
XI.
``Has
some
plague
a
longer
lease,
``Proffering
its
help
uncouth?
``Can't
one
even
die
in
peace?
``As
one
shuts
one's
eyes
on
youth,
``Is
that
face
the
last
one
sees?''
XII.
Oh
how
dark
your
villa
was,
Windows
fast
and
obdurate!
How
the
garden
grudged
me
grass
Where
I
stood—-the
iron
gate
Ground
its
teeth
to
let
me
pass!
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.