Easter Day, La Saisiaz_, and _One Word More_--unless, spite of the
poet's warning, we add _Pauline_.

But, although the dramatic element in Browning's poetry renders it
difficult to construct his character from his works, while this is
comparatively easy in the case of Wordsworth or Byron; and although it
throws a shade of uncertainty on every conclusion we might draw as to
any specific doctrine held by him, still Browning lives in a certain
atmosphere, and looks at his characters through a medium, whose subtle
influence makes all his work indisputably _his_. The light he throws on
his men and women is not the unobtrusive light of day, which reveals
objects, but not itself. Though a true dramatist, he is not objective
like Shakespeare and Scott, whose characters seem never to have had an
author. The reader feels, rather, that Browning himself attends him
through all the sights and wonders of the world of man; he never escapes
the sense of the presence of the poet's powerful personality, or of the
great convictions on which he has based his life. Browning has, at
bottom, only one way of looking at the world, and one way of treating
his objects; one point of view, and one artistic method. Nay, further,
he has one supreme interest, which he pursues everywhere with a
constancy shown by hardly any other poet; and, in consequence, his works
have a unity and a certain originality, which make them in many ways a
unique contribution to English literature.

This characteristic, which no critic has missed, and which generally
goes by the name of "the metaphysical element" in his poetry, makes it
the more imperative to form a clear view of his ruling conceptions. No
poet, least of all a dramatic poet, goes about seeking concrete vehicles
for ready-made ideas, or attempts to dress a philosophy in metaphors;
and Browning, as an artist, is interested first of all in the object
which he renders beautiful for its own sole sake, and not in any
abstract idea it illustrates. Still, it is true in a peculiar sense in
his case, that the eye of the poet brings with it what it sees. He is,
as a rule, conscious of no theory, and does not construct a poem for its
explication; he rather strikes his ideas out of his material, as the
sculptor reveals the breathing life in the stone. Nevertheless, it may
be shown that a theory rules him from behind, and that profound
convictions arise in the heart and rush along the blood at the moment of
creation,