Robert Browning was born on May 7, 1812, in Camberwell near London. He was the first child of Robert and Sarah Anna Browning. Robert Sr. had fallout with his rich father, when he was sent to oversee a West Indies sugar plantation. But young Browning Sr. horrified by the institution of slavery, gave up his prospects and returned home.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning may be the perfect example of the transient power of fame. In the mid-19th century, Browning was one of the most famous and influential writers of her time; writers such as Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allen Poe cited her influence on their own work. At one point, she was even a serious candidate for Poet Laureate of the United States despite the fact that she lived in.
The Major Works Robert Browning Edited by Adam Roberts and Introduction by Daniel Karllin Oxford World's Classics. Previously published in the acclaimed Oxford Authors series, this is the most comprehensive selection of Browning's poems and prose available, and the only selection of Browning's poetry to include his courtship correspondence with Elizabeth Barrett.
In 1860, Browning’s mental health was broke down by the death of her sister Henrietta and the unstable political situation in Italy. Browning died in the arms of her husband in the summer, in Florence on June 30, 1861. The following year R. Browning published the remaining unpublished poems of the poetess in her book “Last Poems” (1862).
BY ROBERT BROWNING FAME See, as the prettiest graves will do in time, Our poet's wants the freshness of its prime; Spite of the sexton's browsing horse, the sods Have struggled through its binding osier-rods; Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry, Wanting the brick-work promised by-and-by; How the minute gray lichens, plate o'er plate.
Essay about My Last Duchess By Robert Browning - His Last Duchess Robert Browning’s My Last Duchess is a dramatic monologue narrated by the Duke of Ferrara Even a passing gaze to this poem would paint a picture of a selfish prick of a husband and a wife whose mere fault was naivete, someone who was merely appreciative of the beauty around her, a quality that bugged her husband to the point.