"Porphyria’s Lover" is a poem by the British poet Robert Browning, first published in 1836. Along with"My Last Duchess," it has become one of Browning’s most famous dramatic monologues—due in no small part to its shockingly dark ending. In the poem, the speaker describes being visited by his passionate lover, Porphyria. After realizing how much she cares for him, however, the speaker strangles Porphyria and then props her lifeless body up beside him. He then concludes the poem by announcing that God has yet to punish him for this murder. While the speaker is often taken to be a madman, his (very twisted) motivations seem clear: in killing Porphyria, he takes control over her, transforming her into an obedient object that will remain "pure" forever.
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1The rain set early in to-night,
2 The sullen wind was soon awake,
3It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
4 And did its worst to vex the lake:
5 I listened with heart fit to break.
6When glided in Porphyria; straight
7 She shut the cold out and the storm,
8And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
9 Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
10 Which done, she rose, and from her form
11Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
12 And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
13Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
14 And, last, she sat down by my side
15 And called me. When no voice replied,
16She put my arm about her waist,
17 And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
18And all her yellow hair displaced,
19 And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
20 And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
21Murmuring how she loved me — she
22 Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
23To set its struggling passion free
24 From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
25 And give herself to me for ever.
26But passion sometimes would prevail,
27 Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
28A sudden thought of one so pale
29 For love of her, and all in vain:
30 So, she was come through wind and rain.
31Be sure I looked up at her eyes
32 Happy and proud; at last I knew
33Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
34 Made my heart swell, and still it grew
35 While I debated what to do.
36That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
37 Perfectly pure and good: I found
38A thing to do, and all her hair
39 In one long yellow string I wound
40 Three times her little throat around,
41And strangled her. No pain felt she;
42 I am quite sure she felt no pain.
43As a shut bud that holds a bee,
44 I warily oped her lids: again
45 Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
46And I untightened next the tress
47 About her neck; her cheek once more
48Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
49 I propped her head up as before,
50 Only, this time my shoulder bore
51Her head, which droops upon it still:
52 The smiling rosy little head,
53So glad it has its utmost will,
54 That all it scorned at once is fled,
55 And I, its love, am gained instead!
56Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
57 Her darling one wish would be heard.
58And thus we sit together now,
59 And all night long we have not stirred,
60 And yet God has not said a word!
1The rain set early in to-night,
2 The sullen wind was soon awake,
3It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
4 And did its worst to vex the lake:
5 I listened with heart fit to break.
6When glided in Porphyria; straight
7 She shut the cold out and the storm,
8And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
9 Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
10 Which done, she rose, and from her form
11Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
12 And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
13Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
14 And, last, she sat down by my side
15 And called me. When no voice replied,
16She put my arm about her waist,
17 And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
18And all her yellow hair displaced,
19 And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
20 And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
21Murmuring how she loved me — she
22 Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
23To set its struggling passion free
24 From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
25 And give herself to me for ever.
26But passion sometimes would prevail,
27 Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
28A sudden thought of one so pale
29 For love of her, and all in vain:
30 So, she was come through wind and rain.
31Be sure I looked up at her eyes
32 Happy and proud; at last I knew
33Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
34 Made my heart swell, and still it grew
35 While I debated what to do.
36That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
37 Perfectly pure and good: I found
38A thing to do, and all her hair
39 In one long yellow string I wound
40 Three times her little throat around,
41And strangled her. No pain felt she;
42 I am quite sure she felt no pain.
43As a shut bud that holds a bee,
44 I warily oped her lids: again
45 Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
46And I untightened next the tress
47 About her neck; her cheek once more
48Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
49 I propped her head up as before,
50 Only, this time my shoulder bore
51Her head, which droops upon it still:
52 The smiling rosy little head,
53So glad it has its utmost will,
54 That all it scorned at once is fled,
55 And I, its love, am gained instead!
56Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
57 Her darling one wish would be heard.
58And thus we sit together now,
59 And all night long we have not stirred,
60 And yet God has not said a word!
The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me.
When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me
she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her.
No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love:
she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!
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.
"Porphyria's Lover" Out Loud — Listen to "Porphyria's Lover" aloud in its entirety.
Robert Browning and the Dramatic Monologue — A detailed analysis of Browning's relationship with the dramatic monologue, including M. H. Abram's definition of the form.
What Is the Blazon? — A definition of the blazon, a tradition of Renaissance love poetry, which Browning employs in "Porphyria's Lover."
Robert Browning's Life — A detailed biography of Robert Browning from the Poetry Foundation.
Amoretti XXXVII — Spenser's sonnet, Amoretti XXXVII, where his speaker refers to his mistress' hair as a "net of gold"—anticipating the obsession that the speaker of "Porphyria's Lover" has with her golden hair.