 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII, IX, X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
 | XV. |
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| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
XIII.
Now, you shall seeAnd judge if a mere foppery
Pricks on my speaking! I resolve
To utter—yes, it shall devolve
On you to hear as solemn, strange
And dread a thing as in the range
279
E'er happened to our kind! I still
Stand in the cloud and, while it wraps
My face, ought not to speak perhaps;
Seeing that if I carry through
My purpose, if my words in you
Find a live actual listener,
My story, reason must aver
False after all—the happy chance!
While, if each human countenance
I meet in London day by day,
Be what I fear,—my warnings fray
No one, and no one they convert,
And no one helps me to assert
How hard it is to really be
A Christian, and in vacancy
I pour this story!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |