Page:Poems - volume 1 - EBBrowning (1844).pdf/241

 And they praised me in her presence;—"Will your book appear this summer?" Then returning to each other—"Yes, our plans are for the moors;" Then with whisper dropped behind me—"There he is! the latest comer! Oh, she only likes his verses! what is over, she endures.

"Quite low born! self-educated! somewhat gifted though by nature,— And we make a point of asking him,—of being very kind; You may speak, he does not hear you; and besides, he writes no satire,— These new charmers keep their serpents with the antique sting resigned."

I grew colder, I grew colder, as I stood up there among them,— Till as frost intense will burn you, the cold scorning scorched my brow;