The Shorter Poems of Robert Browning

The Shorter Poems of Robert Browning, by Robert Browning, compiled by William Clyde DeVane

I found this book at a garage sale for a quarter. It is in decent condition, although it smells somewhat musty. It is no more than 75 years old, but it looks younger, or possibly just less "used." I bought it because I wanted to read some of the poetry of Robert Burns, but as it turns out, Robert Browning is not the same as Robert Burns. Fancy that. There are so many poets named Robert, I can't keep them all straight.

Although I found a few of the poems to be somewhat uninteresting, there were quite a few good ones as well. It was a challenging read. Poetry is hard enough to understand when its written in every day, modern language. Add to that the vernacular of the 19th century and it becomes a college level reading. (Although a few years ago, this probably would have been a high school level reading.)

I was particularly interested in the poems regarding love, because it seems to me that that is what poems are for. Interesting titles to note are Cristina, The Italian in England, The Lost Mistress, A Lover's Quarrel, The Flower's Name, and A Woman's Last Word. Those were the poems I enjoyed, mostly because they deal with relationships- and not always from the man's point of view. There were a few poems in which the poet becomes an actor in order to put himself in the head of someone else, sometimes someone of another gender. I liked the way he was able to capture human feelings within relationships.

And to whet your appetite, here's my favorite, a Sonnet.

Eyes calm beside thee (Lady, could'st though know!)
May turn away thick with fast-gathering tears:
I glance not where all gaze: thrilling and low
Their passionate praises reach thee- my cheek wears
Alone no wonder when thou passest by;
Thy tremulous lids bent and suffused reply
To the irrepressible homage which doth glow
On every lip but mine: if in thine ears
Their accents linger- and thou dost recall
Me as I stood, still, guarded, very pale,
Beside each votarist whose lighted brow
Wore worship like an aureole, "O'er them all
"My beauty," thou wilt murmur, "did prevail
"Save that one only,":- Lady, could'st though know!