ABSTRACT
Who wills may hear Sordello’s story told By Robert Browning; warm? (you ask) or cold? But just so much as seemeth to enhanceThe start being granted, onward goes the dance To its own music-the poem’s inward sense; So, by its verity…nay, no pretence Avails your self-created bards, and thus By just the chance of half a hair to us, If understood-but what’s the odds to you, Who with no obligation to pursue Scant tracks of thought, if such, indeed, there be In this one poem…stay, my friend, and see Whether you note that creamy tint of flesh Softer than bivalve pink, impearled and fresh, Just where the small o’ th’ back goes curving down To the full buttock-ay, but that’s the crown Protos, incumbered, cast before the feet Of Grecian women…ah! you hear me, sweet!
