Porphyria’s Lover

Introduction

Robert Browning (1812-1889) was a prominent English poet known for his dramatic monologues and complex, psychologically insightful poetry. His works often explore the inner thoughts and emotions of his characters, delving into themes of human motivation, morality, and social issues. Browning’s innovative use of language and form, particularly in his dramatic monologues like “My Last Duchess” and “The Ring and the Book,” established him as a key figure in Victorian literature. His poetry is celebrated for its narrative strength and rich, textured verse.

“Porphyria’s Lover” is 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.

Text of the poem

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!

“Porphyria’s Lover” Summary

It started raining very early in the night. The wing began to howl and broke the tops of elm trees just for fun. It disturbed the waters of the lake and I was listening to the storm. I was thinking that my heart would break and just at that time, Porphyria entered the room. She shut the windows immediately to keep cold and wind out. She lit a blazing fire in the fireplace and made the cottage warm. After that, she took off her wet cloak and shawl. She put down her dirty gloves and untied her hat to let her damp hair fall loose.

Finally, she came and sat down next to me and spoke to me. I did not say anything back, so she put my arm around her waist. She brushed her blond hair over her smooth white shoulder and laid my cheek on it. She spread her hair over my face and her shoulder, whispering that she loved me. She wanted to be with me but her pride and ego were stopping her from indulging in her desires and letting me possess her forever. But sometimes, her desire gets the best of her. Earlier in the evening she was at a happy, raucous party but still, she was thinking about me. She was picturing me wanting to be with her so badly that it made me weak and pale, and all for nothing. This was the reason why she came to see me in the storm. Don’t doubt it: I looked at her happy, proud eyes, and in that moment, I was finally sure that Porphyria was in love with me over head and ears.

Suddenly, realizing how much she loved me filled my heart with happiness and pride, and it just kept getting fuller as I was trying to figure out what to do next. At that moment, she belonged only to me. She was beautiful, virtuous, and noble. I finally figured out what to do. I gathered her hair into one blonde rope twisted it around her thick neck three times and strangled her. She did not feel any pain and I was totally sure of it. Her eyes were like a flower with its petals closed up around a bee. I cautiously opened up her lids and saw her blue eyes again, looking happy and perfect. I loosened the hair from around her neck. Her cheek was rosy beneath my passionate kiss again. I propped up her head, this time it rested on my shoulder. Her little smiling pink face is still there, resting on my shoulder. She was so happy that she finally got what she wanted. She has won my love and every other thing that she struggled with was gone. She never guessed how I would interpret her single, sweet desire. Now, we were sitting together and we had not moved an inch all night. The God who was watching had not said anything about it.