1If one could have that little head of hers
2Painted upon a background of pale gold,
3Such as the Tuscan’s early art prefers!
4No shade encroaching on the matchless mould
5Of those two lips, which should be opening soft
6In the pure profile; not as when she laughs,
7For that spoils all: but rather as if aloft
8Yon hyacinth, she loves so, leaned its staff’s
9Burthen of honey-coloured buds to kiss
10And capture ’twixt the lips apart for this.
11Then her lithe neck, three fingers might surround,
12How it should waver on the pale gold ground,
13Up to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it lifts!
14I know, Correggio loves to mass, in rifts
15Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on orb
16Breaking its outline, burning shades absorb:
17But these are only massed there, I should think,
18Waiting to see some wonder momently
19Grow out, stand full, fade slow against the sky
20(That’s the pale ground you’d see this sweet face by),
21All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into one eye
22Which fears to lose the wonder, should it wink.
1If one could have that little head of hers
2Painted upon a background of pale gold,
3Such as the Tuscan’s early art prefers!
4No shade encroaching on the matchless mould
5Of those two lips, which should be opening soft
6In the pure profile; not as when she laughs,
7For that spoils all: but rather as if aloft
8Yon hyacinth, she loves so, leaned its staff’s
9Burthen of honey-coloured buds to kiss
10And capture ’twixt the lips apart for this.
11Then her lithe neck, three fingers might surround,
12How it should waver on the pale gold ground,
13Up to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it lifts!
14I know, Correggio loves to mass, in rifts
15Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on orb
16Breaking its outline, burning shades absorb:
17But these are only massed there, I should think,
18Waiting to see some wonder momently
19Grow out, stand full, fade slow against the sky
20(That’s the pale ground you’d see this sweet face by),
21All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into one eye
22Which fears to lose the wonder, should it wink.
If one could have that little head of hers
Painted upon a background of pale gold,
Such as the Tuscan’s early art prefers!
No shade encroaching on the matchless mould
Of those two lips, which should be opening soft
In the pure profile; not as when she laughs,
For that spoils all:
but rather as if aloft
Yon hyacinth, she loves so, leaned its staff’s
Burthen of honey-coloured buds to kiss
And capture ’twixt the lips apart for this.
Then her lithe neck, three fingers might surround,
How it should waver on the pale gold ground,
Up to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it lifts!
I know, Correggio loves to mass, in rifts
Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on orb
Breaking its outline, burning shades absorb:
But these are only massed there, I should think,
Waiting to see some wonder momently
Grow out, stand full, fade slow against the sky
(That’s the pale ground you’d see this sweet face by),
All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into one eye
Which fears to lose the wonder, should it wink.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
Paintings by Correggio — Get an idea of the kind of sensual Renaissance portraiture the speaker imagines in this overview of Correggio's work.
Dramatis Personae — See images of the poem as it first appeared in Browning's important 1864 collection Dramatis Personae.
A Brief Biography — Learn more about Browning's life and work via the Poetry Foundation.
More on Browning — Visit the Victorian Web to learn more about Browning.