Men and Women (Browning)/Volume 1/The Patriot
For works with similar titles, see The Patriot.
THE PATRIOT.
AN OLD STORY
1.
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day!
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day!
2.
The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries.
Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels–
But give me your sun from yonder skies!"
They had answered, "And afterward, what else?"
The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries.
Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels–
But give me your sun from yonder skies!"
They had answered, "And afterward, what else?"
3.
Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun,
To give it my loving friends to keep.
Nought man could do, have I left undone
And you see my harvest, what I reap
This very day, now a year is run.
Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun,
To give it my loving friends to keep.
Nought man could do, have I left undone
And you see my harvest, what I reap
This very day, now a year is run.
4.
There's nobody on the house-tops now–
Just a palsied few at the windows set—
For the best of the sight is, all allow,
At the Shambles' Gate—or, better yet,
By the very scaffold's foot, I trow.
There's nobody on the house-tops now–
Just a palsied few at the windows set—
For the best of the sight is, all allow,
At the Shambles' Gate—or, better yet,
By the very scaffold's foot, I trow.
5.
I go in the rain, and, more than needs,
A rope cuts both my wrists behind,
And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds,
For they fling, whoever has a mind,
Stones at me for my year's misdeeds.
I go in the rain, and, more than needs,
A rope cuts both my wrists behind,
And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds,
For they fling, whoever has a mind,
Stones at me for my year's misdeeds.
6.
Thus I entered Brescia, and thus I go!
In such triumphs, people have dropped down dead.
"Thou, paid by the World,—what dost thou owe
Me?"–God might have questioned: but now instead
'Tis God shall requite! I am safer so.
Thus I entered Brescia, and thus I go!
In such triumphs, people have dropped down dead.
"Thou, paid by the World,—what dost thou owe
Me?"–God might have questioned: but now instead
'Tis God shall requite! I am safer so.