THE LABORATORY
by: Robert Browning (1812-1889)
- I
-
- OW that I, tying thy glass mask
tightly,
- May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
- As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy--
- Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?
-
- II
-
- He is with her; and they know that I know
- Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
- While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
- Empty church, to pray God in, for them! -- I am here.
-
- III
-
- Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
- Pound at thy powder, -- I am not in haste!
- Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
- Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.
-
- IV
-
- That in the mortar -- you call it a gum?
- Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
- And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,
- Sure to taste sweetly, -- is that poison too?
-
- V
-
- Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
- What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!
- To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
- A signet, a fan-mount, a filligree-basket!
-
- VI
-
- Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give
- And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
- But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head
- And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead!
-
- VII
-
- Quick -- is it finished? The colour's too grim!
- Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim?
- Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
- And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!
-
- VIII
-
- What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me--
- That's why she ensnared him: this never will free
- The soul from those masculine eyes, -- say, 'no!'
- To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.
-
- IX
-
- For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
- My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
- Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall,
- Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does not all!
-
- X
-
- Not that I bid you spare her the pain!
- Let death be felt and the proof remain;
- Brand, burn up, bite into its grace--
- He is sure to remember her dying face!
-
- XI
-
- Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose
- It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:
- The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee--
- If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?
-
- XII
-
- Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,
- You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
- But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings
- Ere I know it -- next moment I dance at the King's!
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POEMS BY ROBERT BROWNING |
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