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Poem by Robert Browning
All I can say is--I saw it! The room was as bare as your hand. I locked in the swarth little lady,--I swear, From the head to the foot of her--well, quite as bare! 'No Nautch shall cheat me,' said I, 'taking my stand At this bolt which I draw!' And this bolt--I withdraw it, And there laughs the lady, not bare, but embowered With--who knows what verdure, o'erfruited, o'erflowered? Impossible! Only--I saw it! All I can sing is--I feel it! This life was as blank as that room; I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed? Walls, ceiling, and floor,--not a chance for a weed! Wide opens the entrance: where's cold, now, where's gloom? No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it, Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing, These fruits of your bearing--nay, birds of your winging! A fairy-tale! Only--I feel it!
Robert Browning's other poems:
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