Robert Browning's "A Light Woman" is a dramatic monologue about love, friendship, and deceit, told from the perspective of a man who betrays his friend by seducing the woman he loves. The speaker justifies his actions by insisting that he only did this in order to prove to his friend that this woman was "light," or unserious and promiscuous. Yet, throughout the poem, readers get the sense that the speaker isn't being entirely honest with them or with himself and that his motivations weren't as selfless as he wants to make them seem. Even as he appears to feel some remorse for the consequences of his actions—his friend is now miserable and hates him—he still tries to convince the reader that his intentions were noble. "A Light Woman" was published in Browning's 1855 collection, Men and Women. Its unreliable narrator is a classic feature of Browning's dramatic monologues. The poem also exposes the sexual hypocrisy of Victorian society, in which women were held to a much higher moral standard than men.
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I.
1So far as our story approaches the end,
2Which do you pity the most of us three?—
3My friend, or the mistress of my friend
4With her wanton eyes, or me?
II.
5My friend was already too good to lose,
6And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
7When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
8And over him drew her net.
III.
9When I saw him tangled in her toils,
10A shame, said I, if she adds just him
11To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
12The hundredth for a whim!
IV.
13And before my friend be wholly hers,
14How easy to prove to him, I said,
15An eagle's the game her pride prefers,
16Though she snaps at a wren instead!
V.
17So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
18My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
19And round she turned for my noble sake,
20And gave me herself indeed.
VI.
21The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
22The wren is he, with his maiden face.
23—You look away and your lip is curled?
24Patience, a moment's space!
VII.
25For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
26He eyes me as the basilisk:
27I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
28Eclipsing his sun's disk.
VIII.
29And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
30"Though I love her—that, he comprehends—
31"One should master one's passions, (love, in chief)
32"And be loyal to one's friends!"
IX.
33And she,—she lies in my hand as tame
34As a pear late basking over a wall;
35Just a touch to try and off it came;
36'Tis mine,—can I let it fall?
X.
37With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!
38Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
39'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst
40When I gave its stalk a twist.
XI.
41And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:
42What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
43What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
44 No hero, I confess.
XII.
45'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
46And matter enough to save one's own:
47Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
48He played with for bits of stone!
XIII.
49One likes to show the truth for the truth;
50That the woman was light is very true:
51But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!
52What wrong have I done to you?
XIV.
53Well, any how, here the story stays,
54So far at least as I understand;
55And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
56Here's a subject made to your hand!
I.
1So far as our story approaches the end,
2Which do you pity the most of us three?—
3My friend, or the mistress of my friend
4With her wanton eyes, or me?
II.
5My friend was already too good to lose,
6And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
7When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
8And over him drew her net.
III.
9When I saw him tangled in her toils,
10A shame, said I, if she adds just him
11To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
12The hundredth for a whim!
IV.
13And before my friend be wholly hers,
14How easy to prove to him, I said,
15An eagle's the game her pride prefers,
16Though she snaps at a wren instead!
V.
17So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
18My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
19And round she turned for my noble sake,
20And gave me herself indeed.
VI.
21The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
22The wren is he, with his maiden face.
23—You look away and your lip is curled?
24Patience, a moment's space!
VII.
25For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
26He eyes me as the basilisk:
27I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
28Eclipsing his sun's disk.
VIII.
29And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
30"Though I love her—that, he comprehends—
31"One should master one's passions, (love, in chief)
32"And be loyal to one's friends!"
IX.
33And she,—she lies in my hand as tame
34As a pear late basking over a wall;
35Just a touch to try and off it came;
36'Tis mine,—can I let it fall?
X.
37With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!
38Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
39'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst
40When I gave its stalk a twist.
XI.
41And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:
42What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
43What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
44 No hero, I confess.
XII.
45'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
46And matter enough to save one's own:
47Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
48He played with for bits of stone!
XIII.
49One likes to show the truth for the truth;
50That the woman was light is very true:
51But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!
52What wrong have I done to you?
XIV.
53Well, any how, here the story stays,
54So far at least as I understand;
55And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
56Here's a subject made to your hand!
So far as our story approaches the end,
Which do you pity the most of us three?—
My friend, or the mistress of my friend
With her wanton eyes, or me?
My friend was already too good to lose,
And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
And over him drew her net.
When I saw him tangled in her toils,
A shame, said I, if she adds just him
To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
The hundredth for a whim!
And before my friend be wholly hers,
How easy to prove to him, I said,
An eagle's the game her pride prefers,
Though she snaps at a wren instead!
So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
And round she turned for my noble sake,
And gave me herself indeed.
The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
The wren is he, with his maiden face.
—You look away and your lip is curled?
Patience, a moment's space!
For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
He eyes me as the basilisk:
I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
Eclipsing his sun's disk.
And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
"Though I love her—that, he comprehends—
"One should master one's passions, (love, in chief)
"And be loyal to one's friends!"
And she,—she lies in my hand as tame
As a pear late basking over a wall;
Just a touch to try and off it came;
'Tis mine,—can I let it fall?
With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!
Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst
When I gave its stalk a twist.
And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:
What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
No hero, I confess.
'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one's own:
Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
He played with for bits of stone!
One likes to show the truth for the truth;
That the woman was light is very true:
But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!
What wrong have I done to you?
Well, any how, here the story stays,
So far at least as I understand;
And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
Here's a subject made to your hand!
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.
A Biography of Robert Browning — Learn about the poet's life and work at the Poetry Foundation.
A Reading of the Poem — Listen to the poem as read by actor Jeremy Irons.
The Legacy of Robert Browning — Read an essay celebrating the bicentenary of Browning's birth.
Men and Women: Project Gutenberg E-Book — Read an in-depth introduction to Browning's Men and Women, in which "A Light Woman" was published, and peruse the other poems that originally appeared alongside this one.
Robert Browning and Feminism — An essay exploring the ways in which some of Browning's most famous poems highlight the patriarchal double standards of Victorian society.