Porphyria’s Lover – Robert Browning Poem

by
  1. The rain set early in tonight,
  2. The sullen wind was soon awake,
  3. It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
  4. And did its worst to vex the lake:
  5. I listened with heart fit to break.
  6. When glided in Porphyria; straight
  7. She shut the cold out and the storm,
  8. And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
  9. Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
  10. Which done, she rose, and from her form
  11. Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
  12. And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
  13. Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
  14. And, last, she sat down by my side
  15. And called me. When no voice replied,
  16. She put my arm about her waist,
  17. And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
  18. And all her yellow hair displaced,
  19. And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
  20. And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
  21. Murmuring how she loved me—she
  22. Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavour,
  23. To set its struggling passion free
  24. From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
  25. And give herself to me for ever.
  26. But passion sometimes would prevail,
  27. Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
  28. A sudden thought of one so pale
  29. For love of her, and all in vain:
  30. So, she was come through wind and rain.
  31. Be sure I looked up at her eyes
  32. Happy and proud; at last I knew
  33. Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
  34. Made my heart swell, and still it grew
  35. While I debated what to do.
  36. That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
  37. Perfectly pure and good: I found
  38. A thing to do, and all her hair
  39. In one long yellow string I wound
  40. Three times her little throat around,
  41. And strangled her. No pain felt she;
  42. I am quite sure she felt no pain.
  43. As a shut bud that holds a bee,
  44. I warily oped her lids: again
  45. Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
  46. And I untightened next the tress
  47. About her neck; her cheek once more
  48. Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
  49. I propped her head up as before,
  50. Only, this time my shoulder bore
  51. Her head, which droops upon it still:
  52. The smiling rosy little head,
  53. So glad it has its utmost will,
  54. That all it scorned at once is fled,
  55. And I, its love, am gained instead!
  56. Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
  57. Her darling one wish would be heard.
  58. And thus we sit together now,
  59. And all night long we have not stirred,
  60. And yet God has not said a word!