Poem by Robert Browning

To Edward Fitzgerald

I chanced upon a new book yesterday;
I opened it, and, where my finger lay
'Twixt page and uncut page, these words I read -
Some six or seven at most - and learned thereby
That you, Fitzgerald, whom by ear and eye
She never knew, "thanked God my wife was dead."
Aye, dead! and were yourself alive, good Fitz,
How to return you thanks would task my wits.
Kicking you seems the common lot of curs -
While more appropriate greeting lends you grace,
Surely to spit there glorifies your face -
Spitting from lips once sanctified by hers. 

1. Up at a Villa-Down in the City
2. Earth's Immortalities
3. Home-Thoughts, from the Sea
4. Protus
5. Respectability

Print

1408 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version