 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII, IX, X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
 | XV. |
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| 1. |
| 2. |
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| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
IV.
Say am I right? Your sealed sense moved your mind,Free from obstruction, to compassionate
Art's power left powerless, and supply the blind
With fancies worth all facts denied by fate.
Mind could invent things, and to—take away,
At pleasure, leave out trifles mean and base
Which vex the sight that cannot say them nay
But, where mind plays the master, have no place.
And bent on banishing was mind, be sure,
All except beauty from its mustered tribe
Of objects apparitional which lure
Painter to show and poet to describe—
That imagery of the antique song
Truer than truth's self. Fancy's rainbow-birth
Conceived mid clouds in Greece, could glance along
Your passage o'er Dutch veritable earth,
As with ourselves, who see, familiar throng
About our pacings men and women worth
Nowise a glance—so poets apprehend—
Since nought avails portraying them in verse:
While painters turn upon the heel, intend
206
Due to the daily and undignified.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |