Poems
Love Among The Ruins
I.
Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward thro’ the twilight, stray or stop
As they crop—-
Was the site once of a city great and gay,
(So they say)
Of our country’s very capital, its prince
Ages since
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
Peace or war.
II.
Now,—-the country does not even boast a tree,
As you see,
To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
From the hills
Intersect and give a name to, (else they run
Into one)
Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
Up like fires
O’er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
Bounding all,
Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed,
Twelve abreast.
III.
And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass
Never was!
Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o’erspreads
And embeds
Every vestige of the city, guessed alone,
Stock or stone—-
Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe
Long ago;
Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame
Struck them tame;
And that glory and that shame alike, the gold
Bought and sold.
IV.
Now,—-the single little turret that remains
On the plains,
By the caper overrooted, by the gourd
Overscored,
While the patching houseleek’s head of blossom winks
Through the chinks—-
Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
Sprang sublime,
And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced
As they raced,
And the monarch and his minions and his dames
Viewed the games.
V.
And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve
Smiles to leave
To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece
In such peace,
And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey
Melt away—-
That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair
Waits me there
In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul
For the goal,
When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb
Till I come.
VI.
But he looked upon the city, every side,
Far and wide,
All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades’
Colonnades,
All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—-and
All the men!
When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,
Either hand
On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace
Of my face,
Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech
Each on each.
VII.
In one year they sent a million fighters forth
South and North,
And they built their gods a brazen pillar high
As the sky,
Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force—-
Gold, of course.
Oh heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
Earth’s returns
For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
Shut them in,
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
Love is best.
Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward thro’ the twilight, stray or stop
As they crop—-
Was the site once of a city great and gay,
(So they say)
Of our country’s very capital, its prince
Ages since
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
Peace or war.
II.
Now,—-the country does not even boast a tree,
As you see,
To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
From the hills
Intersect and give a name to, (else they run
Into one)
Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
Up like fires
O’er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
Bounding all,
Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed,
Twelve abreast.
III.
And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass
Never was!
Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o’erspreads
And embeds
Every vestige of the city, guessed alone,
Stock or stone—-
Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe
Long ago;
Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame
Struck them tame;
And that glory and that shame alike, the gold
Bought and sold.
IV.
Now,—-the single little turret that remains
On the plains,
By the caper overrooted, by the gourd
Overscored,
While the patching houseleek’s head of blossom winks
Through the chinks—-
Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
Sprang sublime,
And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced
As they raced,
And the monarch and his minions and his dames
Viewed the games.
V.
And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve
Smiles to leave
To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece
In such peace,
And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey
Melt away—-
That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair
Waits me there
In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul
For the goal,
When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb
Till I come.
VI.
But he looked upon the city, every side,
Far and wide,
All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades’
Colonnades,
All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—-and
All the men!
When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,
Either hand
On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace
Of my face,
Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech
Each on each.
VII.
In one year they sent a million fighters forth
South and North,
And they built their gods a brazen pillar high
As the sky,
Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force—-
Gold, of course.
Oh heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
Earth’s returns
For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
Shut them in,
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
Love is best.
Analysis (ai): The poem contrasts a ruined ancient city with a pastoral present, situating love as the enduring force amid decay, displacing former power and conflict.
- Narrative Structure: A first-person speaker moves from observation to personal revelation, culminating in an emotional climax that redefines value—love surpasses historical grandeur.
- Historical Contrast: The ruins symbolize the impermanence of political might and militarism, once marked by “a million fighters” and “brazen pillar[s],” now erased by nature’s reclamation.
- Tone and Irony: A calm, almost wry tone undercuts the former city’s significance; the speaker acknowledges its past but dismisses its legacy in favor of an intimate, immediate connection.
- Love as Resolution: The final stanza’s declaration—”Love is best”—functions not merely as sentiment but as a quiet rebellion against monumentalism and historical self-importance.
- Intimacy vs. Empire: Unlike Browning’s dramatic monologues that explore psychological complexity through historical personae, this poem centers a personal, unadorned moment, reducing empire to backdrop.
- Comparison to Other Works: Where poems like “My Last Duchess” dissect control and artifice in relationships, this piece presents mutual, embodied affection, rare in Browning’s often ironic or troubled portrayals of love.
- Place in Browning’s Oeuvre: Less performative than his typical monologues, this work stands apart for its lyrical simplicity and affirmative closing, unusual in a body of work more drawn to ambiguity and moral intricacy.
- Era’s Norms and Expectations: Unlike Victorian tendencies to monumentalize history or moralize decline, the poem rejects didacticism, treating ruins not as warnings but as fertile ground for personal renewal.
- Natural Imagery: Grass “embeds every vestige” of the city, illustrating nature’s quiet victory over human ambition, a reversal of the era’s industrial confidence in progress.
- Ruins and Gender: The waiting woman in the turret transforms a space of imperial spectacle into one of private anticipation, subtly shifting power from public arena to personal encounter.
- Form and Meter: Loose anapestic rhythm and irregular stanzas mirror the uneven terrain of the landscape, while the rhyme scheme provides continuity without rigidity.
- Engagement with Modern Concerns: Though written in the 19th century, the poem prefigures modern skepticism toward national myths and the valorization of individual experience over collective history.
- Less-Discussed Angle: Rather than framing love as transcendent, it is immanent and physical—the reunion is tactile, silent, and immediate, privileging presence over memory or ideology.
- Language and Temporal Distance: Archaic diction like “thro’,” “o’erspreads,” and “rills” lends a timeless quality, but the syntax remains accessible, balancing antiquity with immediacy.
- Final Emphasis: The closing cry—“Oh heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!”—grounds abstract reflection in bodily sensation, anchoring the poem’s conclusion in visceral experience.
Robert Browning
(7 May 1812 – 12 December 1889) was an English poet and playwright whose dramatic monologues put him high among the Victorian poets. He was noted for irony, characterization, dark humour, social commentary, historical settings and challenging vocabulary and syntax.
His early long poems Pauline (1833) and Paracelsus (1835) were acclaimed, but his reputation dwindled for a time – his 1840 poem Sordello was seen as wilfully obscure – and took over a decade to recover, by which time he had moved from Shelleyan forms to a more personal style. In 1846, he married fellow poet Elizabeth Barrett and moved to Italy. By her death in 1861, he had published the collection Men and Women (1855). His Dramatis Personae (1864) and book-length epic poem The Ring and the Book (1868–1869) made him a leading poet. By his death in 1889, he was seen as a sage and philosopher-poet who had fed into Victorian social and political discourse. Societies for studying his work survived in Britain and the US into the 20th century.
