"Madhouse Cells, Part II" ["Porphyria's Lover"] Robert Browning Tonya Howe Transcription, correction, editorial commentary, and markup Students and Staff at the University of Virginia Tonya Howe National Endowment for the Humanities Literature in Context
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Published by Literature in Context under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 Unported License "Madhouse Cells" ["Porphyria's Lover"] Robert Browning Bells and Pomegranates. No. III. Dramatic Lyrics London Edward Moxon, Dover Street 1842 "Porphyria's Lover" was first printed in the January 1836 issue of the magazine Monthly Repository, under the title "Porphyria," and was later also published in the third volume ("Dramatic Lyrics") of Bells and Pomegranates, an 8-part self-published collection, under the title "Madhouse Cells." In this version, "Porphyria's Lover" is the second of two paired poems, which together form "Madhouse Cells." "Porphyria's Lover" is the second, and the first is "Johannes Agricola in Meditation," a dramatic soliloquy in which Agricola explains his antinomionism, an extreme form of Calvinism in which true believers can do no wrong. It is an interesting poem to pair with "Porphyria's Lover," as Browning's perspective on Agricola's beliefs is unsympathetic. Like "My Last Duchess," "Porphyria's Lover" is a dramatic monologue, a form of great interest to Browning. Exploring the speaker's pathology through his recounting of the murder of his lover, Porphyria, this is perhaps the most shocking of Browning's poems, and its themes of violence and sexuality offer an unexpected study of human nature that many critics read as a response to the ideals of Romanticism. This digital edition takes its text from the 1842 printing. Page images, provided courtesy of Special Collections, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, VA, show both parts of the two-part "Madhouse Cells," but our text retains only part II, "Porphyria's Lover." Interested readers can explore "Johannes Agricola in Meditation" in the accompanying page image. No. 3, p 13 English print single poem London, England

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 Numbered divs used. Library of Congress Name Authority File Library of Congress Classification Getty Thesaurus of Geographic Names Open Researcher and Contributor ID work begun on LIC edition BELLS AND POMEGRANATES. No. III.--DRAMATIC LYRICS. BY ROBERT BROWNING,AUTHOR OF "PARACELSUS." London: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. MDCCCXLII
MADHOUSE CELLS. [Porphyria's Lover] II. The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me — she Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me for ever. But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipped me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. And I untightened next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: I propped her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead! Porphyria's love: she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirred, And yet God has not said a word!