less prolific family of _spikes_ and _wedges_ and _swords_ runs riot in
Browning's work. The rushing of a fresh river-stream into the warm ocean
tides crystallises into the "crystal spike between two warm walls of
wave;"[87] "air thickens," and the wind, grown solid, "edges its wedge
in and in as far as the point would go."[88] The fleecy clouds embracing
the flying form of Luna clasp her as close "as dented spine fitting its
flesh."[89] The fiery agony of John the heretic is a plucking of sharp
spikes from his rose.[90] Lightning is a bright sword, plunged through
the pine-tree roof. And Mont Blanc himself is half effaced by his
"earth-brood" of aiguilles,--"needles red and white and green, Horns of
silver, fangs of crystal, set on edge in his demesne."[91]

[Footnote 87: _Caliban on Setebos_.]

[Footnote 88: _A Lover's Quarrel_.]

[Footnote 89: _Pan and Luna_.]

[Footnote 90: _The Heretic's Tragedy_.]

[Footnote 91: _La Saisiaz_.]

Browning's joy in abrupt and intricate form had then a definite root in
his own nervous and muscular energy. It was no mere preference which
might be indulged or not, but an instinctive bias, which deeply affected
his way not only of imagining but of conceiving the relations of things.
In this brilliant visual speech of sharply cut angles and saliences, of
rugged incrustations, and labyrinthine multiplicity, Browning's romantic
hunger for the infinite had to find its expression; and it is clear that
the bias implicit in speech imposed itself in some points upon the