Page:Poems - volume 1 - EBBrowning (1844).pdf/241

And they praised me in her presence;—"Will your book appear this summer?"
Then returning to each other—"Yes, our plans are for the moors;"
Then with whisper dropped behind me—"There he is! the latest comer!
Oh, she only likes his verses! what is over, she endures.

"Quite low born! self-educated! somewhat gifted though by nature,—
And we make a point of asking him,—of being very kind;
You may speak, he does not hear you; and besides, he writes no satire,—
These new charmers keep their serpents with the antique sting resigned."

I grew colder, I grew colder, as I stood up there among them,—
Till as frost intense will burn you, the cold scorning scorched my brow;