(1) His composition was rarely sufficiently careful.  It was broken up, overcrowded; minor objects of thought or feeling are made too remarkable for the whole; there is far too little of poetical perspective; the variety of the poem does not always grow out of the subject itself, but out of the external play of Browning’s mind upon things remotely connected with the subject; too many side-issues are introduced; everything he imagined is cast upon the canvas, too little is laid aside, so that the poems run to a length which weakens instead of strengthening the main impression.  A number of the poems have, that is, the faults of a composer whose fancy runs away with him, who does not ride it as a master; and in whom therefore, for a time, imagination has gone to sleep.  Moreover, only too often, they have those faults of composition which naturally belong to a poet when he writes as if intellect rather than passion were the ultimate umpire of the work of his art.  Of course, there are many exceptions; and the study of those exceptions, as exceptions, would make an interesting essay.  On the other hand, Tennyson’s composition was for the most part excellent, and always careful.

(2) Then as to style.  Browning had a style of his own, wholly devoid of imitation, perfectly individual, and this is one of the marks of a good artist.  It was the outcome of his poetic character, and represented it.  At this point his style is more interesting than Tennyson’s.  Tennyson’s style was often too much worked, too consciously subjected to the rules of his art, too worn down to smoothness of texture.  Moreover, the natural surprises of an unchartered individuality do not sufficiently appear in it (Tennyson repressed the fantastic), though the whole weight of his character does magnificently appear.  But if Tennyson was too conscious of his style—­a great misfortune especially in passionate song—­Browning did not take any deliberate pains with his style, and that is a greater misfortune.  His freedom ran into undue licence; and he seems to be over-conscious, even proud, of his fantastical way of writing.  His individuality runs riot in his style.  He paid little attention to the well-established rules of his art, in a revulsion, perhaps, from any imitation of the great models.  He had not enough reverence for his art, and little for the public.  He flung his diction at our heads and said:  “This is myself; take it or leave it.”

None of the greater artists of the world have ever done this.  They have not cared for what the world said, but they have cared for their art.  There are certain limits to individual capriciousness in style, long since laid down, as it were, by Beauty herself; which, transgressed, lessen, injure or lose beauty; and Browning continually transgressed those limits.