Finally, the main contentions of this chapter, which are drawn from a chronological view of Browning’s treatment of Nature, are perhaps worth a summary.  The first is that, though the love of Nature was always less in him than his love of human nature, yet for the first half of his work it was so interwoven with his human poetry that Nature suggested to him humanity and humanity Nature.  And these two, as subjects for thought and feeling, were each uplifted and impassioned, illustrated and developed, by this intercommunion.  That was a true and high position.  Humanity was first, Nature second in Browning’s poetry, but both were linked together in a noble marriage; and at that time he wrote his best poetry.

The second thing this chronological treatment of his Nature-poetry shows, is that his interest in human nature pushed out his love of Nature, gradually at first, but afterwards more swiftly, till Nature became almost non-existent in his poetry.  With that his work sank down into intellectual or ethical exercises, in which poetry decayed.

It shows, thirdly, how the love of Nature, returning, but returning with diminished power, entered again into his love of human nature, and renewed the passion of his poetry, its singing, and its health.  But reconciliations of this kind do not bring back all the ancient affection and happiness.  Nature and humanity never lived together in his poetry in as vital a harmony as before, nor was the work done on them as good as it was of old.  A broken marriage is not repaired by an apparent condonation.  Nature and humanity, though both now dwelt in him, kept separate rooms.  Their home-life was destroyed.  Browning had been drawn away by a Fifine of humanity.  He never succeeded in living happily again with Elvire; and while our intellectual interest in his work remained, our poetic interest in it lessened.  We read it for mental and ethical entertainment, not for ideal joy.

No; if poetry is to be perfectly written; if the art is to be brought to its noblest height; if it is to continue to lift the hearts of men into the realm where perfection lives; if it is to glow, an unwearied fire, in the world; the love of Nature must be justly mingled in it with the love of humanity.  The love of humanity must be first, the love of Nature second, but they must not be divorced.  When they are, when the love of Nature forms the only subject, or when the love of Man forms the only subject, poetry decays and dies.

FOOTNOTES: 

[5] Creatures accordant with the place?

[6] Browning, even more than Shelley, was fond of using the snake in his poetry.  Italy is in that habit.

[7] There is a fine picture of the passing of a hurricane in Paracelsus (p. 67, vol i.) which illustrates this inability to stop when he has done all he needs.  Paracelsus speaks: