palace in Florence the world knows well,_
_And a statue watches it from the square._"

The Ring and the Book.]

The success of "Aurora Leigh" was immediate, a second edition being called
for within a fortnight, and edition after edition followed. This work, of
which, twelve years before, she had a dim foreshadowing, as of a novel in
verse, has the twofold interest of a great dramatic poem and of a
philosophic commentary on art and life. To estimate it only as a social
treatise is to recognize but one element in its kaleidoscopic interest.
Yet the narrative, it must be confessed, is fantastic and unreal. When
the conception of the work first dawned upon her, she said she preferred
making her story to choosing that of any legend, for the theme; but the
plot is its one defect, and is only saved from being a serious defect by
the richness and splendor of thought with which it is invested. The poem
is to some degree a spiritual autobiography; its narrative part having no
foundation in reality, but on this foundation she has recorded her highest
convictions on the philosophy of life. Love, Art, Ethics, the Christianity
of Christ,--all are here, in this almost inexhaustible mine of
intellectual and spiritual wealth. It is a poem peculiarly calculated to
kindle and inspire. What a passage is this:

"... I can live
At least my soul's life, without alms from men,
And if it be in heaven instead of earth,
Let heaven look to it,--I am not afraid."

A profound occult truth is embodied in the following:

"Whate'er our state we must have made it first;
And though the thing displease us,--aye, perhaps,
Displease us warrantably, never doubt
That other states, though possible once, and then
Rejected by the instinct of our lives,
If then adopted had displeased us more.

* * * * *

What we choose may not be good;
But that we choose it, proves it good for us."

No Oriental savant could more forcibly present his doctrine of karma than
has Mrs. Browning in these lines. Her recognition of the power of poetry
is here expressed:

"And plant a poet's word even deep enough
In any man's breast, looking presently
For offshoots, you have done more for the man
Than if you dressed him in a broadcloth coat,
And warmed his Sunday pottage at your fire."

Poetry was to her as serious a thing as life itself. "There has been no
playing at skittles