IN A COPY OF BROWNING.

Browning, old fellow,

Your leaves grow yellow,

Beginning to mellow

As seasons pass.

Your cover is wrinkled,

And stained and sprinkled,

And warped and crinkled

From sleep on the grass.

Is it a wine stain,

Or only a pine stain,

That makes such a fine stain

On your dull blue,—

Got as we numbered

The clouds that lumbered

Southward and slumbered

When day was through?

What is the dear mark

There like an earmark,

Only a tear mark

A woman let fall?—

As bending over

She bade me discover,

“Who plays the lover,

He loses all!”

With you for teacher

We learned love's feature

In every creature

That roves or grieves;

When winds were brawling,

Or bird-folk calling,

Or leaf-folk falling,

About our eaves.

No law must straiten

The ways they wait in,

Whose spirits greaten

And hearts aspire.

The world may dwindle,

And summer brindle,

So love but kindle

The soul to fire.

Here many a red line,

Or pencilled headline,

Shows love could wed line

To golden sense;

And something better

Than wisdom's fetter

Has made your letter

Dense to the dense.

No April robin,

Nor clacking bobbin,

Can make of Dobbin

A Pegasus;

But Nature's pleading

To man's unheeding,

Your subtile reading

Made clear to us.

You made us farers

And equal sharers

With homespun wearers

In home-made joys;

You made us princes

No plea convinces

That spirit winces

At dust and noise.

When Fate was nagging,

And days were dragging,

And fancy lagging,

You gave it scope,—

When eaves were drippy,

And pavements slippy,—

From Lippo Lippi

To Evelyn Hope.

When winter's arrow

Pierced to the marrow,

And thought was narrow,

You gave it room;

We guessed the warder

On Roland's border,

And helped to order

The Bishop's Tomb.

When winds were harshish,

And ways were marshish,

We found with Karshish

Escape at need;

Were bold with Waring

In far seafaring,

And strong in snaring

Ben Ezra's creed.

We felt the menace

Of lovers pen us,

Afloat in Venice

Devising fibs;

And little mattered

The rain that pattered,

While Blougram chattered

To Gigadibs.

And we too waited

With heart elated

And breathing bated,

For Pippa's song;

Saw Satan hover,

With wings to cover

Porphyria's lover,

Pompilia's wrong.

Long thoughts were started,

When youth departed

From the half-hearted

Riccardi's bride;

For, saith your fable,

Great Love is able

To slip the cable

And take the tide.

Or truth compels us

With Paracelsus,

Till nothing else is

Of worth at all.

Del Sarto's vision

Is our own mission,

And art's ambition

Is God's own call.

Through all the seasons,

You gave us reasons

For splendid treasons

To doubt and fear;

Bade no foot falter,

Though weaklings palter,

And friendships alter

From year to year.

Since first I sought you,

Found you and bought you,

Hugged you and brought you

Home from Cornhill,

While some upbraid you,

And some parade you,

Nine years have made you

My master still.