To Robert Browning

There is delight in singing, though none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
In praising, though the praiser sits alone
And see the praised far off him, far above.
Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world’s,
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale
No man hath walked along our roads with step
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue
So varied in discourse. But warmer climes
Give brighter plumage, stronger wing; the breeze
Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

(1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

Related poetry:

Robert Browning How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, In winding graveyard pathways underground, For Browning’s lineage! What if men […]...

On the Death of Robert Browning He held no dream worth waking; so he said, He who stands now on death’s triumphal steep, Awakened out of […]...

To Robert Nichols (From Frise on the Somme in February, 1917, in answer to a letter saying: “I am just finishing my ‘Faun’s […]...

Nearer, my God, to Thee Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! E’en though it be a cross That raiseth me: Still all my […]...

Browning Decides To Be A Poet in these red labyrinths of London I find that I have chosen The strangest of all callings, Save that, in […]...

Elijah Browning I was among multitudes of children Dancing at the foot of a mountain. A breeze blew out of the east […]...

231. Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry WHEN Nature her great master-piece design’d, And fram’d her last, best work, the human mind, Her eye intent on all […]...

Sonnet XXXVI Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that […]...

Sonnet 36: Let me confess that we two must be twain Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one; So shall those blots that […]...

LONGING WHAT pulls at my heart so? What tells me to roam? What drags me and lures me From chamber and […]...

It was once called it comes like a convict Squeezing through bars And is gone before The promptest siren It suddenly turns In the […]...

To the River Charles River! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the […]...

The Narrow Way Believe not those who say The upward path is smooth, Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way And faint before […]...

To Mr. H. Lawes on His Airs Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, […]...

459. Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddell NO more, ye warblers of the wood! no more; Nor pour your descant grating on my soul; Thou young-eyed Spring! […]...

Ode to Della Crusca ENLIGHTEN’D Patron of the sacred Lyre? Whose ever-varying, ever-witching song Revibrates on the heart With magic thrilling touch, Till ev’ry […]...

Lord Robert's Triumphal Entry into Pretoria ‘Twas in the year of 1900, and on the 5th of June, Lord Roberts entered Pretoria in the afternoon; His […]...

Companions Leave not your bough, my slender song-bird sweet, But pipe me now your roundelay complete. Come, gentle breeze, and tarrying […]...

Suggested by the Cover of a Volume of Keats's Poems Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign To put upon the cover of this book? Who heard thee […]...

Robert Davidson I grew spiritually fat living off the souls of men. If I saw a soul that was strong I wounded […]...

Sonnet 13 XIII To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires. Harry whose tuneful and well measur’d Song First taught our English Musick […]...

237. Song-It is na, Jean, thy Bonie Face IT is na, Jean, thy bonie face, Nor shape that I admire; Altho’ thy beauty and thy grace Might weel […]...

A Better Answer Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled! Prithee quit […]...

To Chloe Jealous Dear Chloe, how blubber’d is that pretty face; Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl’d: Prythee quit […]...

158. Song-The Bonie Moor-hen THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn, Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn, O’er moors and […]...

Robert Burns Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr, There’s but few poets can with you compare; Some of your poems and songs are […]...

The parasol is the umbrella's daughter The parasol is the umbrella’s daughter, And associates with a fan While her father abuts the tempest And abridges the […]...

Sonnet 03 – Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! Unlike our uses and our destinies. Our ministering two angels look surprise On […]...

My Butterfly Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too, And the daft sun-assaulter, he That frightened thee so oft, is fled or […]...

Song Of The Spirit Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue In phrases unwritten and measures unsung, As deep and as […]...

351. Second Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry LATE crippl’d of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, […]...

On The Death Of Sir Rowland Cotton Seconding That Of Sir Robert More Cottons yet? O let not envious Fate Attempt the Ruine of our growing State. O had it spar’d Sir […]...

Hugo's "flower to butterfly&quot Sweet, bide with me and let my love Be an enduring tether; Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, But […]...

Elizabeth Barrett Browning Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in her day. With Mary Pickford curls […]...

Sonnet 23 – Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? And would the […]...

THE DILETTANTE AND THE CRITIC A BOY a pigeon once possess’d, In gay and brilliant plumage dress’d; He loved it well, and in boyish sport […]...

Alexander It was the Great Alexander, Capped with a golden helm, Sate in the ages, in his floating ship, In a […]...

Bird Of Hope Soar not too high, O bird of Hope! Because the skies are fair; The tempest may come on apace And […]...

Everyone Sang Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging […]...

The Weeping Babe She kneels by the cradle Where Jesus doth lie; Singing, Lullaby, my Baby! But why dost Thou cry? The babes […]...