But in these books the poetry is less, and is mingled, as would naturally indeed be the case, with a searching analysis, which intrudes too much into their imaginative work.
Over-dissection makes them cold.

In fact, in fully a quarter of this long poem, the analysing understanding, that bustling and self-conscious person, who plays only on the surface of things and separates their elements from one another instead of penetrating to their centre; who is incapable of seeing the whole into which the various elements have combined--is too masterful for the poetry.

It is not, then, imaginative, but intellectual pleasure which, as we read, we gain.
Then again there is throughout a great part of the poem a dangerous indulgence of his wit; the amusement of remote analogies; the use of far-fetched illustrations; quips and cranks and wanton wiles of the reasoning fancy in deviating self-indulgence; and an allusiveness which sets commentators into note-making effervescence.

All these, and more, which belong to wit, are often quite ungoverned, allowed to disport themselves as they please.

Such matters delight the unpoetic readers of Browning, and indeed they are excellent entertainment.