In A Copy Of Browning.

Browning, old fellow,     Your leaves grow yellow,     Beginning to mellow     As seasons pass.     Your cover is wrinkled,     And stained and sprinkled,     And warped and crinkled     From sleep on the grass.     Is it a wine stain,     Or only a pine stain,     That makes such a fine stain     On your dull blue,--     Got as we numbered     The clouds that lumbered     Southward and slumbered     When day was through?     What is the dear mark     There like an earmark,     Only a tear mark     A woman let fall?--     As bending over     She bade me discover,     "Who plays the lover,     He loses all!"     With you for teacher     We learned love's feature     In every creature     That roves or grieves;     When winds were brawling,     Or bird-folk calling,     Or leaf-folk falling,     About our eaves.     No law must straiten     The ways they wait in,     Whose spirits greaten     And hearts aspire.     The world may dwindle,     And summer brindle,     So love but kindle     The soul to fire.     Here many a red line,     Or pencilled headline,     Shows love could wed line     To golden sense;     And something better     Than wisdom's fetter     Has made your letter     Dense to the dense.     No April robin,     Nor clacking bobbin,     Can make of Dobbin     A Pegasus;     But Nature's pleading     To man's unheeding,     Your subtile reading     Made clear to us.     You made us farers     And equal sharers     With homespun wearers     In home-made joys;     You made us princes     No plea convinces     That spirit winces     At dust and noise.     When Fate was nagging,     And days were dragging,     And fancy lagging,     You gave it scope,--     When eaves were drippy,     And pavements slippy,--     From Lippo Lippi     To Evelyn Hope.     When winter's arrow     Pierced to the marrow,     And thought was narrow,     You gave it room;     We guessed the warder     On Roland's border,     And helped to order     The Bishop's Tomb.     When winds were harshish,     And ways were marshish,     We found with Karshish     Escape at need;     Were bold with Waring     In far seafaring,     And strong in snaring     Ben Ezra's creed.     We felt the menace     Of lovers pen us,     Afloat in Venice     Devising fibs;     And little mattered     The rain that pattered,     While Blougram chattered     To Gigadibs.     And we too waited     With heart elated     And breathing bated,     For Pippa's song;     Saw Satan hover,     With wings to cover     Porphyria's lover,     Pompilia's wrong.     Long thoughts were started,     When youth departed     From the half-hearted     Riccardi's bride;     For, saith your fable,     Great Love is able     To slip the cable     And take the tide.     Or truth compels us     With Paracelsus,     Till nothing else is     Of worth at all.     Del Sarto's vision     Is our own mission,     And art's ambition     Is God's own call.     Through all the seasons,     You gave us reasons     For splendid treasons     To doubt and fear;     Bade no foot falter,     Though weaklings palter,     And friendships alter     From year to year.     Since first I sought you,     Found you and bought you,     Hugged you and brought you     Home from Cornhill,     While some upbraid you,     And some parade you,     Nine years have made you     My master still.