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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
XI.
How the duke's wrath o'erboiled,—words, words and yetMore words,—I spare you such fool's fever-fret.
They were not of one sort at all, one size,
As souls go—he and she. 'T is said, the eyes
Of all the lookers-on let tears fall fast.
The minister was mollified at last:
“Take a day,—two days even, ere through pride
You perish,—two days' counsel—then decide!”
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |