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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Prologue to Pacchiarotto</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O the old wall here! How I could pass<br> Life in a long Midsummer day,<br>My feet confined to a plot of grass,<br> My eyes from a wall not once away!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">II</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And lush and lithe, do the creepers clothe<br> Yon wall I watch, with a wealth of green:<br>Its bald red bricks draped, nothing loth,<br> In lappets of tangle they laugh between.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">III</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Now, what is it makes pulsate the robe?<br> Why tremble the sprays? What life o'er brims<br>The body,—the house, no eye can probe,—<br> Divined as, beneath a robe, the limbs?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">IV</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And there again! But my heart may guess<br> Who tripped behind; and she sang perhaps:<br>So, the old wall throbbed, and its life's excess<br> Died out and away in the leafy wraps.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">V</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Wall upon wall are between us: life<br> And song should away from heart to heart.<br>I—prison-bird, with a ruddy strife<br> At breast, and a lip whence storm-notes start—</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">VI</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=116380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hold on, hope hard in the subtle thing<br> That's spirit: though cloistered fast, soar free;<br>Account as wood, brick, stone, this ring<br> Of the rueful neighbors, and—forth to thee!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robert+Browning">Robert Browning</a></strong> from <em><a href="http://sources.citatepedia.com/from.php?a=Robert+Browning&d=Pacchiarotto">Pacchiarotto</a></em></div>

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