1Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth,
2This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
3To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
4For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
5Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
6The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.
7That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
8Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
9If you loved only what were worth your love,
10Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
11Make the low nature better by your throes!
12Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!
Robert Browning's "Among the Rocks" is the seventh in a nine-poem sequence titled "James Lee's Wife" (or, in its original printing, plain old "James Lee"), the opening piece in Browning's important 1864 collection Dramatis Personae. That Latin phrase, meaning "persons of the drama," usually introduces a cast list at the front of a play—and is thus a fitting title for a book containing some of Browning's greatest dramatic monologues, poetic speeches in the voice of a particular character. The speaker here is James Lee's titular wife, an otherwise nameless woman struggling with a fraught, painful marriage. Elsewhere in the sequence, she worries that love is fleeting and deceptive, her marriage fragile and unbalanced. Here, on a clear autumn morning, she has a moment of sudden courageous resolve: moved by the "good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth," she vows to embrace "life's trial" and love's disappointments so long as she's in this world, hoping that greater "gain" will follow in the world "above."
Oh, the old earth smiles a wonderful, huge smile on this autumn morning! How he rests his bones in the sun, sticking out his legs so that the laughing water can run over them. He listens, all the while, to the sweet songs of the sea-larks hopping around on the rocks.
This is the old, plain, deep wisdom: this is the struggle of life (as the smiling earth knows). If you only loved things that deserved your love, then love would do you nothing but good. Make your imperfect soul better through your pains! Give yourself to the world, and look for your reward in heaven!
In "Among the Rocks," the earth is like a wise old man to whom the poem's speaker turns for help and comfort. The speaker looks on as the earth basks under the autumn sun, taking pleasure in existence itself. Such pleasure, the speaker reflects, is the "simple, ancient, true" answer to "life's trials." For her, the only way of coping with pain is to embrace the world as it is, knowing that final satisfaction will come only in heaven.
To the watching speaker, the earth's "good, gigantic" face seems to "smile" on a bright autumn morning by the ocean. Like a grandfatherly giant, the earth stretches out in the sun and warms itself, comfortably splaying its rocky knees and listening to seabirds calling. The earth, in other words delights in simply being. And "That," the speaker reflects, "is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true." In other words, the earth's way of being is a kind of creed, a statement of an old, deep wisdom. The earth's calm, cheerful embrace of existence encourages the speaker to follow suit: to accept, appreciate, and enjoy the world for what it is.
That's especially important, the poem suggests, because the world is so often a difficult place to be. Disappointed by an imperfect love and feeling as if she's struggling through "life's trial," the speaker resolves to follow the earth's example and "give earth [her]self" for now, turning toward life rather than hiding from it. Final "gain," the ultimate and perfect reward, will have to wait for heaven. Life on earth, as the personified earth itself teaches, means taking on the trial of existence and finding beauty in the struggle.
"Among the Rocks" is the seventh in a nine-poem sequence called "James Lee's Wife," in which the titular wife reflects on her complicated, passionate relationship with her husband. In this poem, the speaker's husband has disappointed her so badly that she's led to reflect that love itself might be inherently disappointing. Loving, in this poem, means suffering and struggling to find the patience to bear one's pain.
The poem finds the speaker in a moment of romantic turmoil. She's disillusioned about her husband and about love in general. Though the poem doesn't reveal precisely what's happened, the speaker's language suggests that she's feeling sad, bitter, and world-weary about it all. "If you loved only what were worth your love," she reflects, then love would be "wholly well for you," a straightforwardly wonderful thing. But that's just not how it works. You don't only love the people who earn or deserve your love, in other words. Rather, you can feel love for all sorts of imperfect and disappointing people. Love itself, then, must often end up imperfect and disappointing.
But such disappointment is all part of "life's trial." Anyone who loves, the speaker resolves, must accept the "throes" (or pains) of imperfect love, and even try to see them as a way to raise up "low nature"—that is, to refine and strengthen their character, and perhaps improve the world around them too. By embracing the pain and disappointment of love, then, the poem's speaker finds meaning in her sorrow: facing the pain of disappointed love can help the soul grow. She can even hold out the hope that her trials on earth will bring her closer to eventual "gain" in heaven.
Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth,
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
"Among the Rocks" begins with a flash of simple pleasure. On a bright "autumn morning" on a rocky coast, the poem's speaker hails the "good gigantic smile of the brown old earth."
Linger for a moment over the adjectives in the first line. The earth's smile, to this speaker, feels purely "good"—not glorious or magnificent or splendid, just good. But that simple goodness is in its way overwhelming, "gigantic." The earth's happiness is straightforward, plain, and fabulously big; its great smile sweeps the speaker up.
Listen, too, to the order of the adjectives in "brown old earth." "Old brown earth" would be the more standard way to phrase this in English (where, in a phenomenon known as the Royal Order of Adjectives, adjectives almost always fall into the same sequence, with adjectives describing age preceding adjectives describing color). By putting "brown" before "old," old Browning paints a picture of an earth that is primarily old: its brownness is secondary to its fundamental ancientness. This is far from the first time the earth has sat and smiled.
The smiling earth, the speaker observes, is thoroughly enjoying itself. Personified, he becomes something like an old sailor relaxing on the shore: he "sets his bones / To bask i' the sun" and "thrusts out knees and feet" into the soft "ripple" of the breakers against the shore. The water is enjoying itself, too; its sounds strike the speaker as "mirth," joyful laughter. The imagery here conjures a bright, warm, clear day—and a living world. The knobbly bones of lean, weather-beaten Old Man Earth are also the brown rocks of the cliffside.
Something about the world on this autumn morning, then, makes the speaker feel accompanied. She takes pleasure in the earth's pleasure; its smile becomes her own. Even the rhythm of the lines here suggests energetic delight. While the poem is mostly written in iambic pentameter—that is, lines of five iambs, metrical feet with a da-DUM rhythm—this first line uses some rambling, earthy variations:
Oh, good | gigan- | tic smile | of the brown | old earth
The extra unstressed syllable in “of the brown” gives the line a pebbly, irregular texture, and the three energetic stresses of "brown old earth" feel as grand as that "gigantic smile." (It's also possible to read the last foot here as a classic iamb, "old earth," da-DUM—but a one-two-three punch of "brown old earth" feels in keeping with the elation in these first words.)
Alert readers might notice that we're calling the speaker "she" in this guide, though she doesn't give any clue to her identity in this poem. That's because "Among the Rocks" is one segment of a longer sequence of nine poems called "James Lee's Wife." In this long dramatic monologue, the titular wife—who never gets a name of her own—tracks the slow, sad decline of her marriage to a man whom she loves more than he loves her.
"Among the Rocks" isn’t her first visit to the seacoast. Other poems follow her as she wanders "Along the Beach" and "On the Cliff," fretting about the inconstancy of love. In this, the seventh and shortest poem of the series, she'll face her pain, drawing courage, conviction, and hope from the smiling, ancient earth.
Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.
Unlock all 225 words of this analysis of Lines 5-6 of “Among the Rocks,” and get the Line-by-Line Analysis for every poem we cover.
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Get LitCharts A+That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!
The poem's personified earth is a kindly presence: a wise old man whose "good gigantic smile" suggests a grand embrace of life.
The earth, in this speaker's vision, is brown and lean, old and worn. The speaker's particular attention to the earth's "bones" stretched out to warm in the sun and to his "knees and feet" resting in the water paints a picture of a lanky old sailor, a guy who's seen enough of life to really appreciate the peace of a sunlit morning. At just the same time, these images evoke the knobbly, weather-beaten rocks of a cliff.
Where this personified earth sits, all is well. His "good gigantic smile" suggests there's something simply right about this day; the very waves on the beach ripple with "mirth," giddy laughter. The plainness of the word "good" and the vastness of the word "gigantic" suggest that the speaker perceives a fundamental, simple, and grand contentment in the earth's way of being.
She takes part in that contentment, too. She may be suffering, but in the sage, kindly company of the earth, she's not alone. Like an affectionate grandfather, "old earth smiles and knows," sympathizing: "life's trial," his wise contentment suggests, can't be dodged, but must be embraced.
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Get LitCharts A+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 contraction of "of."
"Among the Rocks" is the seventh in a sequence of nine poems collectively titled "James Lee's Wife." These poems, spoken in the voice of the titular wife, explore her fears about her slowly collapsing relationship with her husband: that he'll change, that she'll change, that their love will change, that love itself is inherently ruinous. Each poem takes its title from the place where the wife thinks these thoughts, often near a rocky coastline: "Along the Beach," "Under the Cliff." This is the shortest entry in the sequence: a twelve-line poem built from just two sestets (or six-line stanzas).
Among companion poems that are often longer and more complex, the brief and simple "Among the Rocks" captures one calm, still moment of understanding. As the poem’s speaker—the wife, suffering an unspecified but painful romantic disillusionment—looks out over the rocks on a bright autumn morning by the sea, she finds courage in the realization that the earth delights in merely being. The poem’s short, plain shape reflects both the earth’s simple pleasure and the speaker's fresh resolve to take life on its own terms.
"Among the Rocks" is written in iambic pentameter. That means that each of its lines is built from five iambs, metrical feet with a da-DUM rhythm. Here’s how that sounds in line 12:
Give earth | yourself, | go up | for gain | above!
While that iambic pulse keeps the poem going, there are plenty of variations here, too. Listen to the rhythm of lines 7 and 8, for instance:
That is | the doc- | trine, sim- | ple, an- | cient, true;
Such is | life's trial, | as old | earth smiles | and knows.
By starting these two forceful lines with trochees—the opposite feet of iambs, with a DUM-da rhythm—Browning gives the speaker’s voice the ring of conviction as she renews her commitment to life on this imperfect earth.
Variations in the meter can be atmospheric, too. Listen to the very first line:
Oh, good | gigan- | tic smile | o' the brown | old earth,
The rambling, rumbly rhythm here, with its extra unstressed syllable and its string of three bold stresses at the end of the line, paints a sound-picture of "brown old earth" with his rocky bones stretched out in the sun.
The poem's rhyme scheme runs like this:
ABCABC
Even within the confines of a short poem, this pattern feels unhurried and thoughtful, making readers wait a moment for rhymes to resolve (as they wouldn't in a more common AABBCC or ABABAB scheme). These leisurely rhymes evoke both the earth’s easy pleasure in the morning and the speaker’s moment of calm amidst pain. She’s gotten over the most acute phase of her suffering here, and—following the earth’s example—she’s ready to take a deep, philosophical breath and face the world in all its imperfection.
The speaker here is "James Lee’s Wife" herself, the titular character of the sequence this poem comes from. Without that context, readers wouldn't gather much about her identity; she doesn't say anything about herself here.
Still, readers can gather that this speaker is a saddened idealist, a person whose high hopes for love and life have been disappointed or even betrayed. Here, she leans on a philosophical acceptance of imperfection and a willingness to embrace the world, facing "life's trial" with calm courage. Her delight in the "good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth" on a lovely autumn morning gives her the resolve to embrace what she can't change. She has, too, a consoling faith in the eventual rewards of heaven. Everything she goes through on earth, she believes, will refine her soul and lead to "gain" in a better world.
The poem paints a picture of a sea coast on a bright autumn morning. Here, the "brown old earth" seems to be sunning himself. With his old bones stretched out to "bask i' the sun," he's like nothing so much as a kindly old sailor making the most of a beautiful day. This knobbly, browned personification suggests a landscape of weathered, rocky sea-cliffs with their "feet" dabbling in the breakers—and a world delighting in itself, from the "mirth" (or laughter) of the waves to the "good gigantic smile" of the earth.
There's a gentle sweetness to this scene, as well: the "sea-lark twitters" softly in the background. Perhaps its song reminds the speaker that there's "gain" to be hoped for from "above" as well as here on earth: there's pleasure in this landscape (in spite of the world's disappointments), and there's pleasure to be found beyond it.
The English poet Robert Browning (1812-1889) was most famous in his time for not sounding much like a poet. His contemporaries were confused by his most distinctive works: his dramatic monologues, in which he inhabited a character like an actor playing a part. Even Oscar Wilde, a big Browning fan, famously said that "[George] Meredith is a prose Browning, and so is Browning." The Victorian literary world was much more at ease with the melancholy lyricism of Tennyson or the elegance of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Browning's wife, and a much more famous poet at the time) than with the novelistic storytelling of Browning's work.
But it's on his earthy, vibrant dramatic monologues that Browning's enduring reputation rests. His best-known poems form a veritable rogues' gallery, with narrators from a corrupt bishop to a murderous Italian duke to an equally murderous lover. By allowing these hideous men to speak for themselves, Browning explored the darker corners of human nature—and took a particular interest in the ways that people justify their terrible deeds. Villains, Browning's monologues suggest, don't tend to think that they're villains. Browning's poetry wasn't all theatrical murder and greed, though; he also wrote tenderly about heroism, homesickness, and heartbreak.
"Among the Rocks" is the seventh segment of a sequence entitled "James Lee's Wife," sometimes just called "James Lee" in earlier printings. In this series of nine connected poems, the titular (and otherwise nameless) Mrs. Lee reflects on her passionate, fraught, complex relationship with her husband. Here, she finds consolation in nature after he badly (but mysteriously) disappoints her. Browning first published "James Lee's Wife" in the important 1864 collection Dramatis Personae. That collection's great dramatic monologues would go on to influence writers from Henry James to Jorge Luis Borges to A.S. Byatt.
Many critics see "James Lee's Wife," the sequence from which this poem comes, as partly autobiographical, an exploration of some of the more difficult dynamics in Browning's own marriage. That marriage, however, was a more balanced and loving one than poor James Lee's wife ever enjoys.
In 1845, Browning paid his first visit to a rising star in the literary world: Elizabeth Barrett. Unusually for a woman writer of the time, Barrett had become wildly famous; Browning was only one of many readers to be moved by her soulful, elegant poetry. He wrote her a fan letter, and the two began a warm correspondence. Eventually, they fell deeply in love.
Barrett's tyrannical father was having none of it, however. Besides preferring to keep his talented daughter (and her earnings) to himself, he disapproved of Browning, who was several years younger than Barrett—unconventional in a Victorian marriage—and not yet a commercially successful writer himself. Defying Mr. Barrett, the couple eloped to Italy in 1846 (which they might have rather enjoyed, following as they were in the romantic footsteps of their heroes Mary and Percy Shelley). Outraged, Elizabeth's father disinherited her.
The newlywed Brownings, undaunted, set up house in Florence. There, they would live happily for over a decade until Elizabeth fell ill. She died in Robert's arms at the age of only 55.
Dramatis Personae — See images of the first edition of Dramatis Personae, the important collection in which this poem appeared.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of the poem.
More on Browning — Visit the Victorian Web to find a wealth of resources on Browning's life and work.
A Brief Biography — Learn more about Browning's life and times via the Poetry Foundation.
Portraits of Browning — Admire some portraits of Browning via London's National Portrait Gallery.