The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition. Robert Browning

       “And be your death, for aught I know,

       “If once they find you saved their foe.

       “Now, you must bring me food and drink,

       “And also paper, pen and ink,

       “And carry safe what I shall write

       “To Padua, which you’ll reach at night

       “Before the Duomo shuts; go in,

       “And wait till Tenebræ begin;

       “Walk to the third confessional,

       “Between the pillar and the wall,

       “And kneeling whisper, whence comes peace?

       “Say it a second time, then cease;

       “And if the voice inside returns,

       “From Christ and Freedom; what concerns

       “The cause of Peace? — for answer, slip

       “My letter where you placed your lip;

       “Then come back happy we have done

       “Our mother service — I, the son,

       “As you the daughter of our land!”

       Three mornings more, she took her stand

       In the same place, with the same eyes:

       I was no surer of sunrise

       That of her coming. We conferred

       Of her own prospects, and I heard

       She had a lover — stout and tall,

       She said — then let her eyelids fall,

       “He could do much” — as if some doubt

       Entered her heart, — then, passing out,

       “She could not speak for others — who

       “Had other thoughts; herself she knew:”

       And so she brought me drink and food.

       After four days, the scouts pursued

       Another path; at last arrived

       The help my Paduan friends contrived

       To furnish me: she brought the news.

       For the first time I could not choose

       But kiss her hand, and lay my own

       Upon her head — ”This faith was shown

       “To Italy, our mother; — she

       “Uses my hand and blesses thee.”

       She followed down to the sea-shore;

       I left and never saw her more.

       How very long since I have thought

       Concerning — much less wished for — aught

       Beside the good of Italy,

       For which I live and mean to die!

       I never was in love; and since

       Charles proved false, what shall now convince.

       My inmost heart I have a friend?

       However, if I pleased to spend

       Real wishes on myself — say, Three —

       I know at least what one should be.

       I would grasp Metternich until

       I felt his red wet throat distil

       In blood thro’ these two hands: and next,

       — Nor much for that am I perplexed —

       Charles, perjured traitor, for his part,

       Should die slow of a broken heart

       Under his new employer: last

       — Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast

       Do I grow old and out of strength.

       If I resolved to seek at length

       My father’s house again, how scared

       They all would look, and unprepared!

       My brothers live in Austria’s pay

       — Disowned me long ago, men say;

       And all my early mates who used

       To praise me so — perhaps induced

       More than one early step of mine —

       Are turning wise: while some opine

       “Freedom grows License,” some suspect

       “Haste breeds Delay,” and recollect

       They always said, such premature

       Beginnings never could endure!

       So, with a sullen “All’s for best,”

       The land seems settling to its rest.

       I think then, I should wish to stand

       This evening in that dear, lost land,

       Over the sea the thousand miles,

       And know if yet that woman smiles

       With the calm smile; some little farm

       She lives in there, no doubt: what harm

       If I sat on the door-side bench,

       And, while her spindle made a trench

       Fantastically in the dust,

       Inquired of all her fortunes — just

       Her children’s ages and their names,

       And what may be the husband’s aims

       For each of them — I’d talk this out,

       And sit there, for an hour about,

       Then kiss her hand once more, and lay

       Mine on her head, and go my way.

       So much for idle wishing — how

       It steals the time! To business now.