Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN A GONDOLA, by ROBERT BROWNING Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I send me heart up to thee, all my heart Last Line: Have lived indeed, and so -- (yet one more kiss) -- can die! Variant Title(s): The Two Kisses Subject(s): Gondolas & Gondoliers; Love; Venice, Italy | ||||||||
He sings. I SEND my heart up to thee, all my heart In this my singing. For the stars help me, and the sea bears part; The very night is clinging Closer to Venice' streets to leave one space Above me, whence thy face May light my joyous heart to thee its dwelling-place. She speaks. Say after me, and try to say My very words, as if each word Came from you of your own accord, In your own voice, in your own way: "This woman's heart and soul and brain Are mine as much as this gold chain She bids me wear; which" (say again) "I choose to make by cherishing A precious thing, or choose to fling Over the boat-side, ring by ring." And yet once more say...no word more! Since words are only words. Give o'er! Unless you call me, all the same, Familiarly by my pet name, Which if the Three should hear you call, And me reply to, would proclaim At once our secret to them all. Ask of me, too, command me, blame -- Do, break down the partition-wall 'Twixt us, the daylight world beholds Curtained in dusk and splendid folds! What's left but -- all of me to take? I am the Three's: prevent them, slake Your thirst! 'T is said the Arab sage, In practising with gems, can loose Their subtle spirit in his cruce And leave but ashes: so, sweet mage, Leave them my ashes when thy use Sucks out my soul, thy heritage! He sings. Past we glide, and past, and past! What's that poor Agnese doing Where they make the shutters fast? Gray Zanobi's just a-wooing To his couch the purchased bride: Past we glide! Past we glide, and past, and past! Why's the Pucci Palace flaring Like a beacon to the blast? Guests by hundreds, not one caring If the dear host's neck were wried: Past we glide! She sings. The moth's kiss, first! Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed Its petals up; so, here and there You brush it, till I grow aware Who wants me, and wide ope I burst. The bee's kiss, now! Kiss me as if you entered gay My heart at some noonday, -- A bud that dares not disallow The claim, so, all is rendered up, And passively its shattered cup Over your head to sleep I bow. He sings. What are we two? I am a Jew, And carry thee, farther than friends can pursue, To a feast of our tribe; Where they need thee to bribe The devil that blasts them unless he imbibe Thy...Scatter the vision for ever! And now, As of old, I am I, thou art thou! Say again, what we are? The sprite of a star, I lure thee above where the destinies bar My plumes their full play Till a ruddier ray Than my pale one announce there is withering away Some...Scatter the vision for ever! And now, As of old, I am I, thou art thou! Oh, which were best, to roam or rest? The land's lap or the water's breast? To sleep on yellow millet-sheaves, Or swim in lucid shallows, just Eluding water-lily leaves, An inch from Death's black finger, thrust To lock you, whom release he must; Which life were best on Summer eves? He speaks, musing. Lie back: could thought of mine improve you? From this shoulder let there spring A wing; from this, another wing; Wings, not legs and feet, shall move you! Snow-white must they spring, to blend With your flesh, but I intend They shall deepen to the end, Broader, into burning gold, Till both wings cresent-wise enfold Your perfect self, from 'neath your feet To o'er your head, where, lo, they meet As if a million sword-blades hurled Defiance from you to the world! Rescue me thou, the only real! And scare away this mad ideal That came, nor motions to depart! Thanks! Now, stay ever as thou art! Still he muses. What if the Three should catch at last Thy serenader? While there's cast, Paul's cloak about my head, and fast Gian pinions me, Himself has past His stylet through my back; I reel; And...is it thou I feel? They trail me, these three godless knaves, Past every church that saints and saves, Nor stop till, where the cold sea raves By Lido's wet accursed graves, They scoop mine, roll me to its brink, And...on thy breast I sink! She replies, musing. Dip your arm o'er the boat side, elbow-deep, As I do: thus: were death so unlike sleep, Caught this way? Death's to fear from flame or steel, Or poison doubtless; but from water -- feel! Go find the bottom! Would you stay me? There! Now pluck a great blade of that ribbon-grass To plait in where the foolish jewel was, I flung away: since you have praised my hair, 'T is proper to be choice in what I wear. He speaks. Row home? must we row home? too surely Know I where its front's demurely Over the Guidecca piled; Window just with window mating, Door on door exactly waiting, All's the set face of a child: But behind it, where's a trace Of the staidness and reserve, And formal lines without a curve, In the same child's playing-face? No two windows look one way O'er the small sea-water thread Below them. Ah, the autumn day I, passing, saw you overhead! First, out a cloud of curtain blew, Then a sweet cry, and last came you -- To catch your lory that must needs Escape just then, of all times then, To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds And make me happiest of men. I scarce could breathe to see you reach So far back o'er the balcony, To catch him ere he climbed too high Above you in the Smyrna peach, That quick the round smooth cord of gold, This coiled hair on your head, unrolled, Fell down you like a gorgeous snake The Roman girls were wont, of old, When Rome there was, for coolness' sake To let lie curling o'er their bosoms. Dear lory, may his beak retain Ever its delicate rose stain, As if the wounded lotus-blossoms Had marked their thief to know again. Stay longer yet, for others' sake Than mine! What should your chamber do? -- With all its rarities that ache In silence while day lasts, but wake At night-time and their life renew, Suspended just to pleasure you Who brought against their will together These objects, and, while day lasts, weave Around them such a magic tether That dumb they look: your harp, believe, With all the sensitive tight strings Which dare not speak, now to itself Breathes slumberously, as if some elf Went in and out the chords, -- his wings Make murmur, wheresoe'er they graze, As an angel may, between the maze Of midnight palace-pillars, on And on, to sow God's plagues, have gone Through guilty glorious Babylon. And while such murmurs flow, the nymph Bends o'er the harp-top from her shell As the dry limpet for the lymph Come with a tune he knows so well. And how your statues' hearts must swell! And how your pictures must descend To see each other, friend with friend! Oh, could you take them by surprise, You'd find Schidone's eager Duke Doing the quaintest courtesies To that prim saint by Haste-thee-Luke! And, deeper into her rock den, Bold Castelfranco's Magdalen You'd find retreated from the ken Of that robed counsel-keeping Ser -- As if the Tizian thinks of her, And is not, rather, gravely bent On seeing for himself what toys Are these his progeny invent, What litter now the board employs Whereon he signed a document That got him murdered! Each enjoys Its night so well, you cannot break The sport up: so, indeed must make More stay with me, for other's sake. She speaks. To-morrow, if a harp-string, say, Is used to tie the jasmine back That overfloods my room with sweets, Contrive your Zorzi somehow meets My Zanze! If the ribbon's black, The Three are watching: keep away! Your gondola -- let Zorzi wreathe A mesh of water-weeds about Its prow, as if he unaware Had struck some quay or bridge-foot stair! That I may throw a paper out As you and he go underneath. There's Zanze's vigilant taper; safe are we. Only one minute more to-night with me? Resume your past self of a month ago! Be you the bashful gallant, I will be The lady with the colder breast than snow. Now bow you, as becomes, nor touch my hand More than I touch yours when I step to land. Just say, "All thanks, Siora!" -- Heart to heart And lips to lips! yet once more, ere we part, Clasp me and make me thine, as mine thou art! He is surprised, and stabbed. It was ordained to be so, sweet! -- and best Comes now, beneath thine eyes, upon thy breast. Still kiss me! Care not for the cowards! Care Only to put aside thy beauteous hair My blood will hurt! The Three, I do not scorn To death, because they never lived: but I Have lived indeed, and so -- (yet one more kiss) -- can die! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEVATED by JOHN FREDERICK NIMS SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 6 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 7 by CLARENCE MAJOR ROSE COLORED GLASSES by KENNETH REXROTH CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME' by ROBERT BROWNING |
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