In Robert Browning's "Love Among the Ruins," a lover makes his way across a grassy landscape to meet with his beloved in the ruins of an old tower. A majestic ancient city once stood on this very ground—but there's barely a trace of it now. Since glory and pomp inevitably fade and vanish, the speaker reflects, it's a mystery why people pour so much feeling and effort into pursuing them. To him, there's no point striving after any triumph but one: "Love is best." The poem first appeared in Browning's important 1855 collection Men and Women.
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1Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
2Miles and miles
3On the solitary pastures where our sheep
4Half-asleep
5Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop
6As they crop—
7Was the site once of a city great and gay,
8(So they say)
9Of our country's very capital, its prince
10Ages since
11Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
12Peace or war.
13Now,—the country does not even boast a tree,
14As you see,
15To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
16From the hills
17Intersect and give a name to, (else they run
18Into one)
19Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
20Up like fires
21O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
22Bounding all
23Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed,
24Twelve abreast.
25And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass
26Never was!
27Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'erspreads
28And embeds
29Every vestige of the city, guessed alone,
30Stock or stone—
31Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe
32Long ago;
33Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame
34Struck them tame;
35And that glory and that shame alike, the gold
36Bought and sold.
37Now,—the single little turret that remains
38On the plains,
39By the caper over-rooted, by the gourd
40Overscored,
41While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks
42Through the chinks—
43Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
44Sprang sublime,
45And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced
46As they raced,
47And the monarch and his minions and his dames
48Viewed the games.
49And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve
50Smiles to leave
51To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece
52In such peace,
53And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey
54Melt away—
55That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair
56Waits me there
57In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul
58For the goal,
59When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb
60Till I come.
61But he looked upon the city, every side,
62Far and wide,
63All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades'
64Colonnades,
65All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—and then
66All the men!
67When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,
68Either hand
69On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace
70Of my face,
71Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech
72Each on each.
73In one year they sent a million fighters forth
74South and North,
75And they built their gods a brazen pillar high
76As the sky,
77Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force—
78Gold, of course.
79O heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
80Earth's returns
81For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
82Shut them in,
83With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
84Love is best.
1Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
2Miles and miles
3On the solitary pastures where our sheep
4Half-asleep
5Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop
6As they crop—
7Was the site once of a city great and gay,
8(So they say)
9Of our country's very capital, its prince
10Ages since
11Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
12Peace or war.
13Now,—the country does not even boast a tree,
14As you see,
15To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
16From the hills
17Intersect and give a name to, (else they run
18Into one)
19Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
20Up like fires
21O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
22Bounding all
23Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed,
24Twelve abreast.
25And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass
26Never was!
27Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'erspreads
28And embeds
29Every vestige of the city, guessed alone,
30Stock or stone—
31Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe
32Long ago;
33Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame
34Struck them tame;
35And that glory and that shame alike, the gold
36Bought and sold.
37Now,—the single little turret that remains
38On the plains,
39By the caper over-rooted, by the gourd
40Overscored,
41While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks
42Through the chinks—
43Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
44Sprang sublime,
45And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced
46As they raced,
47And the monarch and his minions and his dames
48Viewed the games.
49And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve
50Smiles to leave
51To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece
52In such peace,
53And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey
54Melt away—
55That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair
56Waits me there
57In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul
58For the goal,
59When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb
60Till I come.
61But he looked upon the city, every side,
62Far and wide,
63All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades'
64Colonnades,
65All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—and then
66All the men!
67When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,
68Either hand
69On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace
70Of my face,
71Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech
72Each on each.
73In one year they sent a million fighters forth
74South and North,
75And they built their gods a brazen pillar high
76As the sky,
77Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force—
78Gold, of course.
79O heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
80Earth's returns
81For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
82Shut them in,
83With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
84Love is best.
Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop
As they crop—
Was the site once of a city great and gay,
(So they say)
Of our country's very capital, its prince
Ages since
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
Peace or war.
Now,—the country does not even boast a tree,
As you see,
To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
From the hills
Intersect and give a name to, (else they run
Into one)
Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
Up like fires
O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
Bounding all
Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed,
Twelve abreast.
And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass
Never was!
Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'erspreads
And embeds
Every vestige of the city, guessed alone,
Stock or stone—
Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe
Long ago;
Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame
Struck them tame;
And that glory and that shame alike, the gold
Bought and sold.
Now,—the single little turret that remains
On the plains,
By the caper over-rooted, by the gourd
Overscored,
While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks
Through the chinks—
Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time
Sprang sublime,
And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced
As they raced,
And the monarch and his minions and his dames
Viewed the games.
And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve
Smiles to leave
To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece
In such peace,
And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey
Melt away—
That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair
Waits me there
In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul
For the goal,
When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb
Till I come.
But he looked upon the city, every side,
Far and wide,
All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades'
Colonnades,
All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—and then
All the men!
When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand,
Either hand
On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace
Of my face,
Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech
Each on each.
In one year they sent a million fighters forth
South and North,
And they built their gods a brazen pillar high
As the sky,
Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force—
Gold, of course.
O heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
Earth's returns
For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
Shut them in,
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
Love is best.
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.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of the poem.
Browning's Influence — Read an article celebrating Browning's legacy.
More on Browning — Learn more about Browning's life and work at the Victorian Web.
A Brief Biography — Read the Poetry Foundation's short biography of Browning.
Portraits of Browning — Admire some of the portraits of Browning held in London's National Portrait Gallery.