Christmas Eve

Robert Browning (7 May 1812 - 12 December 1889) was an English poet and playwright whose mastery of dramatic verse, especially dramatic monologues, made him one of the foremost Victorian poets.IOut of the little chapel I burst Into the fresh night-air again.Five minutes full, I waited first In the doorway, to escape the rainThat drove in gusts down the common's centre At the edge of which the chapel stands, Before I plucked up heart to enter. Heaven knows how many sorts of handsReached past me, groping for the latchOf the inner door that hung on catchMore obstinate the more they fumbled, Till, giving way at last with a scoldOf the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled One sheep more to the rest in fold, And left me irresolute, standing sentryIn the sheepfold's lath-and-plaster entry, Six feet long by three feet wide, Partitioned off from the vast inside- I blocked up half of it at least.No remedy; the rain kept driving. They eyed me much as some wild beast,