Therefore on him no speech! And brief for thee,

Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,

No man hath walk'd along our roads with steps

So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

So varied in discourse.

To Robert Browning.

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

To Robert Browning.

But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue

Within, and they that lustre have imbibed