Porphyria's Lover by Robert Browning — Read

The rain set early in to-night, / The sullen wind was soon awake, / It tore the elm-tops down for spite, / And did its worst to vex the lake: / I listened with heart fit to break. / When glided in Porphyria; straight / She shut the cold out and the storm, / And kneeled and made the cheerless grate / Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; / Which done, she rose, and from her form / Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, / And laid her soiled gloves by, untied / Her hat and let the damp hair fall, / And, last, she sat down by my side / And called me. When no voice replied, / She put my arm about her waist, / And made her smooth white shoulder bare / And all her yellow hair displaced, / And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, / And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, / Murmuring how she loved me -- she / Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor, / To set its struggling passion free / From pride, and vainer ties dissever, / And give herself to me forever. / But passion sometimes would prevail, / Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain / A sudden thought of one so pale / For love of her, and all in vain: / So, she was come through wind and rain. / Be sure I looked up at her eyes / Happy and proud; at last I knew / Porphyria worshipped me; surprise / Made my heart swell, and still it grew / While I debated what to do. / That moment she was mine, mine, fair, / Perfectly pure and good: I found / A thing to do, and all her hair / In one long yellow string I wound / Three times her little throat around, / And strangled her. No pain felt she; / I am quite sure she felt no pain. / As a shut bud that holds a bee, / I warily oped her lids: again / Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. / And I untightened next the tress / About her neck; her cheek once more / Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: / I propped her head up as before, / Only, this time my shoulder bore / Her head, which droops upon it still: / The smiling rosy little head, / So glad it has its utmost will, / That all it scorned at once is fled, / And I, its love, am gained instead! / Porphyria's love: she guessed not how / Her darling one wish would be heard. / And thus we sit together now, / And all night long we have not stirred, / And yet God has not said a word!