ANDREA DEL SARTO BY ROBERT BROWNING PDF

They live in Florence. He acquiesces to her wish and promises he will give her the money if she will only hold his hand and sit with him by the window from which they can survey Florence. He admits to feeling a deep melancholy, in which "a common grayness silvers everything" line 35 , and hopes she can pull him from it. He tells her that if she were to smile for him, he would be able to pull himself from such sadness. Andrea considers himself a failure as an artist, both because Lucrezia has lost her "first pride" line 37 in him and because he has only one talent: the ability to create faultless paintings. Though many praise him for creating flawless reproductions, which he admits he does easily, with "no sketches first, no studies" line 68 , Andrea is aware that his work lacks the spirit and soul that bless his contemporaries Rafael and Michel Agnolo Michelangelo.

Author:Mosida Daizshura
Country:Indonesia
Language:English (Spanish)
Genre:Business
Published (Last):15 February 2011
Pages:188
PDF File Size:19.39 Mb
ePub File Size:17.57 Mb
ISBN:594-3-34911-421-6
Downloads:72343
Price:Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]
Uploader:Gardat



You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? Will it? I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual, and it seems As if--forgive now--should you let me sit Here by the window with your hand in mine And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole, Both of one mind, as married people use, Quietly, quietly the evening through, I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try.

To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! You smile? How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are! I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie!

Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged. My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. The sudden blood of these men! Speak as they please, what does the mountain care? All is silver-grey, Placid and perfect with my art: the worse! Still, what an arm! And wherefore out? Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, We might have risen to Rafael, I and you! Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged "God and the glory! So it seems: Perhaps not. All is as God over-rules. Why do I need you?

What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo? At the end, God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. The best is when they pass and look aside; But they speak sometimes; I must bear it all. Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time, And that long festal year at Fontainebleau!

A good time, was it not, my kingly days? And had you not grown restless How could it end in any other way? You called me, and I came home to your heart. The triumph was--to reach and stay there; since I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? I am glad to judge Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows My better fortune, I resolve to think. I have known it all these years. I hardly dare. Ay, but the soul! Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, What he? Do you forget already words like those?

Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed! This hour has been an hour! Another smile? If you would sit thus by me every night I should work better, do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more, give you more. Come from the window, love,--come in, at last, Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. God is just. King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, The walls become illumined, brick from brick Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold, That gold of his I did cement them with!

Let us but love each other. Must you go? That Cousin here again? Must see you--you, and not with me? Those loans? More gaming debts to pay? Well, let smiles buy me! I want you at my side To hear them--that is, Michel Agnolo-- Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend. Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he, The Cousin!

I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. I regret little, I would change still less. Since there my past life lies, why alter it? The very wrong to Francis! My father and my mother died of want. Well, had I riches of my own? Let each one bear his lot. They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died: And I have laboured somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely.

Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures--let him try! Yes, You loved me quite enough. This must suffice me here. What would one have? Go, my Love.

JULIO CORTAZAR FANTOMAS PDF

Robert Browning: Poems Summary and Analysis of "Andrea del Sarto (Called 'The Faultless Painter')"

But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? Will it? I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual, and it seems As if—forgive now—should you let me sit Here by the window with your hand in mine And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole, Both of one mind, as married people use, Quietly, quietly the evening through, I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try.

HTDIG PDF

Andrea del Sarto (poem)

It is written in the form of a dramatic monologue told from the perspective of the Italian Renaissance painter, Andrea del Sarto. Summary of Andrea del Sarto The poem begins with the speaker , the artist Andrea del Sarto, asking his wife, Lucrezia, to come and sit with him for a moment without fighting. He wants the two of them to have a quite moment together before he jumps into a reflection of his life. The speaker begins by describing the passage of time and the lack of control he feels he had over his life. The speaker then spends the majority of the poem discussing how his skill level compares to the work of other artists.

TRIXA 16589 MANUAL PDF

Andrea Del Sarto - Poem by Robert Browning

You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? Will it? I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual, and it seems As if--forgive now--should you let me sit Here by the window with your hand in mine And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole, Both of one mind, as married people use, Quietly, quietly the evening through, I might get up to-morrow to my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! You smile? How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!

Related Articles