The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | ||
175
IN A YEAR.
I
Never any more,While I live,
Need I hope to see his face
As before.
Once his love grown chill,
Mine may strive:
Bitterly we re-embrace,
Single still.
II
Was it something said,Something done,
Vexed him? was it touch of hand,
Turn of head?
Strange! that very way
Love begun:
I as little understand
Love's decay.
176
III
When I sewed or drew,I recall
How he looked as if I sung,
—Sweetly too.
If I spoke a word,
First of all
Up his cheek the colour sprung,
Then he heard.
IV
Sitting by my side,At my feet,
So he breathed but air I breathed,
Satisfied!
I, too, at love's brim
Touched the sweet:
I would die if death bequeathed
Sweet to him.
V
“Speak, I love thee best!”He exclaimed:
“Let thy love my own foretell!”
I confessed:
177
“Now unblamed,
“Since upon thy soul as well
“Hangeth mine!”
VI
Was it wrong to own,Being truth?
Why should all the giving prove
His alone?
I had wealth and ease,
Beauty, youth:
Since my lover gave me love,
I gave these.
VII
That was all I meant,—To be just,
And the passion I had raised,
To content.
Since he chose to change
Gold for dust,
If I gave him what he praised
Was it strange?
178
VIII
Would he loved me yet,On and on,
While I found some way undreamed
—Paid my debt!
Gave more life and more,
Till, all gone,
He should smile “She never seemed
“Mine before.
IX
“What, she felt the while,“Must I think?
“Love's so different with us men!”
He should smile:
“Dying for my sake—
“White and pink!
“Can't we touch these bubbles then
“But they break?”
X
Dear, the pang is brief,Do thy part,
Have thy pleasure! How perplexed
Grows belief!
179
Was man's heart:
Crumble it, and what comes next?
Is it God?
The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | ||