ROBERT BROWNING
VI
Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give
And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head
And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead'
VII
Quick is it finished? The colour 5 s too grim' Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim ? Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir, And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer'
VIII
What a drop' She J s not little, no minion like me That 's why she ensnared him. this never will free The soul from those masculine eyes, say, 'no!' To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.
IX
For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall,
Shrivelled; she fell not, yet this does it all!
x
Not that I bid you spare her the pain' Let death be felt and the proof remain; Brand, burn up, bite into its grace He is sure to remember her dying face !
XI
Is it done ? Take my mask oft! Nay, be not morose It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close. The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?
�� �
