The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition: My Last Duchess, Porphyria's Lover, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, Christmas-Eve, Easter-Day…

Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind, not letting go The palm of her, the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick, Like the Prior’s niece … Saint Lucy, I would say. And so all’s saved for me, and for the church A pretty picture gained.

have bethought me: I shall paint a piece … There’s for you! Give me six months, then go, see Something in Sant’ Ambrogio’s! Bless the nuns! They want a cast o’ my office. I shall paint God in the midst, Madonna and her babe, Ringed by a bowery, flowery angel-brood, Lilies and vestments and white faces, sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root Whe

This world’s no blot for us, Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink.

Make his flesh liker and his soul more like, Both in their order? Take the prettiest face, The Prior’s niece … patron-saint — is it so pretty You can’t discover if it means hope, fear, Sorrow or joy? won’t beauty go with these? Suppose I’ve made her eyes all right and blue, Can’t I take breath and try to add life’s flash, And then add soul and heig

First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see; And so they are better, painted — better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out. Have you noticed, now, Your cullion’s hanging face? A bit of chalk, And trust me but you should, th

Give us no more of body than shows soul!

Make them forget there’s such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men — Man’s soul, and it’s a fire, smoke … no, it’s not … It’s vapour done up like a new-born babe — (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth)