Excerpt from The Statue and the Bust, of Browning
Robert Browning
That selfsame instant, underneath,
The Duke rode past in his idle way,
Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.
Gay he rode, with a friend as gay.
Till he threw his head back - "Who is she"
- "A bride the Riccardi brings home today."
Hair in heaps lay heavily
Over a pale brow spirit-pure -
Carved like the heart of a coal-black tree.
Crisped like a war-steed"s encolure -
And vainly sought to dissemble her eyes
Of the blackest black our eyes endure.
And lo, a blade for a knight"s emprise
Filled the fine empty sheath of a man, -
The Duke grew straightway brave and wise.
He looked at her, as a lover can;
She looked at him, as one who awakes:
The past was a sleep, and her life began.
Now, love so ordered for both their sakes,
A feast was held that selfsame night
In the pile which the mighty shadow makes.
(For Via Larga is three-parts light.
But the palace overshadows one.
Because of a crime which may God requite!
To Florence and God the wrong was done.
Through the first republic"s murder there
By Cosimo and his cursed son.)
The Duke (with the statue"s face in the square)
Turned in the midst of his multitude
At the bright approach of the bridal pair.
Face to face the lovers stood
A single minute and no more,
While the bridegroom bent as a man subdued -
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