Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert BrowningBrowning, Robert
General
Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning
Browning, Robert
Drama; English poetry; Poetry -- Collections
But bless you, it's dear--it's dear! fowls, wine, at double 55
the rate.
They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing the
gate
It's a horror to think of. And so the villa for me, not the city!
Beggars can scarcely be choosers; but still--ah, the pity, the pity!
Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and
sandals,
And the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the 60
yellow candles;
One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles,
And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention of
scandals;
_Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum, _tootle-te-tootle_ the fife.
Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!
A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S
O Galuppi, Baldassare, this is very sad to find!
I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind;
But although I take your meaning, 'tis with such a heavy mind!
Here you come with your old music, and here's all the good it brings.
What, they lived once thus at Venice where the merchants were 5
the kings,
Where Saint Mark's is, where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings?
Aye, because the sea's the street there; and 'tis arched by ... what
you call
Shylock's bridge with houses on it, where they kept the carnival;
I was never out of England--it's as if I saw it all.
Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in 10
May?
Balls and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to mid-day,
When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow, do you say?
Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red--
On her neck the small face buoyant, like a bell-flower on its bed,
O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might base his 15
head?
Well, and it was graceful of them--they'd break talk off and afford
--She, to bite her mask's black velvet--he, to finger on his sword,
While you sat and played Toccatas, stately at the clavichord?
What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on
sigh,
Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions--"Must 20
we die?"
Those commiserating sevenths--"Life might last! we can but try!"
"Were you happy?"--"Yes."--"And are you still as happy?"--"Yes. And
you?"
--"Then, more kisses!"--"Did _I_ stop them, when a million seemed so
few?"
Hark, the dominant's persistence till it must be answered to!
So an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, I dare 25
say!
"Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay!
I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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