Robert Browning a Non American Poet 7 May

Robert Browning a Non. American Poet 7 May 1812 – 12 December 1889 By: Jesse Chittenden

Early life He was born in England into a privileged, close-knit family. Started writing verses by himself at 6. Read all 7000+ volumes of books in his fathers library. He was taught/trained by a tutor at home, included riding, fencing, boxing, singing, and dancing. • By 14 he knew 5 languages (English, Greek, Latin, French and Italian). • In 1828 he entered the University of London, but he dropped out after just half a year. • •

Parents Father: 1. Senior bank clerk 2. Love for art/literature, but wanted his son to be something more Mother: 1. Bigger influence 2. Gave him religious background 3. Was a pianist and fellow artist

Later Years • Married Barrett Browning, a poet he had been interested in. • He wrote a two volume series of poems called, Men and Women, composed of 51 poems for his wife. • His last works, Parleyings with Certain People of Importance In Their Day and Asolando, were written in Browning’s own words something that surprised the Victorian public.

Interesting Facts Married his wife against her father's wishes. Had one son named Robert He died in Venice in his son’s home Attended college at 16. After his wife’s death he became involved with his sister. Following the precedent of Shelley, Browning became an atheist and vegetarian, both of which he gave up later

Style of poetry Robert Browning was a Victorian poet who is very well know for his dramatic monologues and use of physiological portrayal. His first poem, Pauline: A Fragment of a Confession was published in 1833 anonymously but was criticized for being "possessed with a more intense and morbid self-consciousness than I ever knew in any sane human being, " Browning promised himself to never again reveal his thoughts directly to his readers. He would "only make men and women speak. “ He followed the poetic style of Shelley through out his writing and wrote very long poems. He portrayed central characters against a social background, these poems explored the complexity of human motives through dramatic monologue.

Poetic Themes Browning is found life to be harsh, dark, and morbid. many of his poems revolve around these dark ideas. His characters tend to make relatively poor choices, but justifies them with their psychological portrayal in his monologues. In his poem, Porphyria's Lover, the narrator kills his lover, but justifies it by saying it was to preserve the moment. In his other poem, Childe Roland to the Dark tower came, he used the dark mind of the character to create

Comparing American poetry was greatly influenced by European poetry in the Victorian period. when it came to the Romantic period the Europeans were influenced by the Americans. American poet Robert Peters was greatly influenced by Browning's monologues.

Prospice FEAR death? -- to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so -- one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

Porphyria’s Lover The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me--she Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me for ever. But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipped me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred, And yet God has not said a word

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came I. My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. II. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare, III. If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be. IV. For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made, finding failure in its scope. V. As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bid the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, (``since all is o'er, '' he saith, ``And the blow fal. Ien no grieving can amend; '') VI. While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves: And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay.