Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/903

 ROBERT BROWNING

Be sure I look'd up at her eyes

Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise

Made my heart swell, and still it grew

While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, 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

Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain. And 1 untighten'd next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more Blush'd 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 scorn'd at once is fled,

And I, its love, am gain'd instead! Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how

Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now,

And all night long we have not stirr'd, And yet God has not said a word!

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