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lirik lagu robert browning - richard mitchley - a lover's quarrel

oh, what a dawn of day!
how the march sun feels like may!
all is blue again
after last night’s rain
and the south dries the hawth~rn~spray
only, my love’s away!
i’d as lief that the blue were grey

runnels, which rillets swell
must be dancing down the dell
with a foaming head
on the beryl bed
paven smooth as a hermit’s cell;
each with a tale to tell
could my love but attend as well

dearest, three months ago!
when we lived blocked~up with snow,—~
when the wind would edge
in and in his wedge
in, as far as the point could go—~
not to our ingle, though
where we loved each the other so!

laughs with so little cause!
we devised games out of straws
we would try and trace
one another’s face
in the ash, as an artist draws;
free on each other’s flaws
how we chattered like two church daws!
what’s in the `times”?—~a scold
at the emperor deep and cold;
he has taken a bride
to his gruesome side
that’s as fair as himself is bold:
there they sit ermine~stoled
and she powders her hair with gold

fancy the pampas’ sheen!
miles and miles of gold and green
where the sunflowers blow
in a solid glow
and—~to break now and then the screen—~
black neck and eyeb~lls keen
up a wild horse leaps between!

try, will our table turn?
lay your hands there light, and yearn
till the yearning slips
thro’ the finger~tips
in a fire which a few discern
and a very few feel burn
and the rest, they may live and learn!

then we would up and pace
for a change, about the place
each with arm o’er neck:
’tis our quarter~deck
we are seamen in woeful case
help in the ocean~sp~ce!
or, if no help, we’ll embrace
see, how she looks now, dressed
in a sledging~cap and vest!
’tis a huge fur cloak—~
like a reindeer’s yoke
falls the lappet along the breast:
sleeves for her arms to rest
or to hang, as my love likes best

teach me to flirt a fan
as the spanish ladies can
or i tint your lip
with a burnt stick’s tip
and you turn into such a man!
just the two spots that span
half the bill of the young male swan

dearest, three months ago
when the mesmerizer snow
with his hand’s first sweep
put the earth to sleep:
’twas a time when the heart could show
all—~how was earth to know
‘neath the mute hand’s to~and~fro?

dearest, three months ago
when we loved each other so
lived and loved the same
till an evening came
when a shaft from the devil’s bow
pierced to our ingle~glow
and the friends were friend and foe!
not from the heart beneath—~
’twas a bubble born of breath
neither sneer nor vaunt
nor reproach nor taunt
see a word, how it severeth!
oh, power of life and death
in the tongue, as the preacher saith!

woman, and will you cast
for a word, quite off at last
me, your own, your you,—~
since, as truth is true
i was you all the happy past—~
me do you leave aghast
with the memories we amassed?

love, if you knew the light
that your soul casts in my sight
how i look to you
for the pure and true
and the beauteous and the right,—~
bear with a moment’s spite
when a mere mote threats the white!

what of a hasty word?
is the fleshly heart not stirred
by a worm’s pin~pr~ck
where its roots are quick?
see the eye, by a fly’s foot blurred—~
ear, when a straw is heard
scratch the brain’s coat of curd!

foul be the world or fair
more or less, how can i care?
’tis the world the same
for my praise or blame
and endurance is easy there
wrong in the one thing rare—~
oh, it is hard to bear!

here’s the spring back or close
when the almond~blossom blows:
we shall have the word
in a minor third
there is none but the cuckoo knows:
heaps of the guelder~rose!
i must bear with it, i suppose

could but november come
were the noisy birds struck dumb
at the warning slash
of his driver’s~lash—~
i would laugh like the valiant thumb
facing the castle glum
and the giant’s fee~faw~fum!

then, were the world well stripped
of the gear wherein equipped
we can stand apart
heart dispense with heart
in the sun, with the flowers unnipped,—~
oh, the world’s hangings ripped
we were both in a bare~walled crypt!

each in the crypt would cry
“but one freezes here! and why?
“when a heart, as chill
“at my own would thrill
“back to life, and its fires out~fly?
“heart, shall we live or die?
“the rest. . . . settle by~and~by!”

so, she’d efface the score
and forgive me as before
it is twelve o’clock:
i shall hear her knock
in the worst of a storm’s uproar
i shall pull her through the door
i shall have her for evermore!

- lirik lagu robert browning

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