This page has been validated.
ROBERT BROWNING
67
He strove to picture it in powerful rhyme;
But what he painted ever—was the soul!
Ay, 't was the soul that moved, delighted him,
Absorbed his care,
From early days in English Camberwell
To that far hour when tolled for him a knell,
Mournful across the deep, from Venice the all-fair.
Voiceless he sleeps, his giant task performed;
But in his stead,
Brave Caponsacchi, poignantly alive,
Pippa, beloved Pompilia, and Clive,
Forbid the world to think of him as dead!
