This movement was one of the largest in the 1700s. It is not clear when it first started but it is assumed it emerged from folklore. These poems are usually passionate and filled with mystery or something supernatural. Unlike what you might think; these poems usually don't deal with romance in a positive way and are actually considered dark.
Analysis
This poem starts with a woman walking into the author's house as she tells him she loves him, and to preserve the moment, the poet decides to kill her so she wont take it back. This poem has two tones. The poem has a very sexual and romantic tone until you reach the line "a sudden thought of one so pale." From that point forward the tone shifts from happiness to dark which makes the reader question if the whole poem was dark all along. The last line of the poem "And yet God has not said a word!" may reference that the poet feels very godly or feels like he can defy God. This could be because he had the choice to whether his love should live or die.
Literary Devices
The author uses imagery multiple times throughout the poem such as the line "Blaze up, and all the cottage warm" which describes a warm cabin with a fire light, and the line "And made her smooth white shoulder bare" showing that Porphyria's collar slipped off her shoulder. Personification is also used in this poem in the line "The sullen wind was soon awake" giving the wind a human attribute to describe the fact it was windy.
Porphyria's Lover -Robert Browning
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 listen'd with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneel'd 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 soil'd gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And call'd 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 look'd up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipp'd 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 Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain. And I untighten'd next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss: I propp'd 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 scorn'd at once is fled, And I, its love, am gain'd instead! Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirr'd, And yet God has not said a word!