Notes:  “Porphyria’s Lover” relates how, by strangling Porphyria with her own yellow hair, the lover seized and preserved the moment of perfect love when, pure and good, Porphyria left the world she could not forego for his sake, and came to him, for once conquered by her love.  A latent misgiving as to his action is intimated in the closing line of the poem. 
        Remarking upon the fact that Browning removed the
original title, “Madhouse Cells,” which headed this poem, and “Johannes Agricola in Meditation,” Mrs. Orr says:  “Such a crime might be committed in a momentary aberration, or even intense excitement of feeling.  It is characterized here by a matter-of-fact simplicity, which is its sign of madness.  The distinction, however, is subtle; and we can easily guess why this and its companion poem did not retain their title.  A madness which is fit for dramatic treatment is not sufficiently removed from sanity.”

“Childe Roland to the dark tower came.”

(See Edgar’s song in “Lear.”)

I

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
        That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
        Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
        Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

II

What else should he be set for, with his staff? 
        What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
        All travellers who might find him posted there, 10
And ask the road?  I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch ’gin write my epitaph
        For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

III

If at his counsel I should turn aside
        Into that ominous tract which, all agree
        Hides the Dark Tower.  Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed:  neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried
        So much as gladness that some end might be.

IV

For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
        What with my search drawn out thro’ years, my hope 20
        Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
        My heart made, finding failure in its scope.

V

As when a sick man very near to death
        Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
        The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside ("since all is o’er,” he saith,
        “And the blow fallen no grieving can amend"); 30