Buzzing

silver bee by marguerita

Confessions

What is he buzzing in my ears?

"Now that I come to die,

Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"

Ah, reverend sir, not I!

Robert Browning
May 17-1812 – December 12, 1889) was a British poet and playwright whose mastery of dramatic verse, especially dramatic monologues, made him one of the foremost Victorian poets.

His mother, to whom he was ardently attached, was a devout Nonconformist............ Yet look at how this plays out: it’s a complete mess!

He was married to Elizabeth Barrett Browning,a poet .http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/ebrownin.htm
When her POEMS (1844) appeared, it gained a huge popularity and was praised among others by the American writer Edgar Allan Poe. Elizabeth Browning's name was mentioned six years later in speculations about the successor of Wordsworth as the poet laureate.In 1845 she met for the first time her future husband, Robert Browning. Their courtship and marriage, owing to her delicate health and the extraordinary objections entertained by Mr. Barrett to the marriage of any of his children, were carried out under somewhat peculiar and romantic circumstances. After a private marriage at St Marylebone Parish Church and a secret departure from her home, she accompanied her husband to the Italian Peninsula, which became her home almost continuously until her death, and with the political aspirations of which she and her husband both thoroughly identified themselves.

The union proved one of unalloyed happiness to both, though it was never forgiven by Mr. Barrett. In her new circumstances her strength greatly increased, and she gave birth to a son, Robert Wiedemann Barrett Browning, called "Pen," at the age of 43. The Brownings settled in Florence, and there she wrote Casa Guidi Windows (1851)—by many considered her strongest work—under the inspiration of the Tuscan struggle for liberty. In Florence she became close friend of British-born poets Isabella Blagden and Theodosia Trollope Garrow.

"What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake.
He giveth His beloved, sleep."
(from 'The Sleep')