Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  Out in a transport) ‘Hast thou spoke

  ‘Plainly in that? Earth’s exquisite

  ‘Treasures of wonder and delight,

  ‘For me?’

  XXII.

  The austere Voice returned, —

  “So soon made happy? Hadst thou learned

  “What God accounteth happiness,

  “Thou wouldst not find it hard to guess

  “What Hell may be His punishment

  “For those who doubt if God invent

  “Better than they. Let such men rest

  “Content with what they judged the best.

  “Let the Unjust usurp at will:

  “The Filthy shall be filthy still:

  “Miser, there waits the gold for thee!

  “Hater, indulge thine enmity!

  “And thou, whose heaven, self-ordained,

  “Was to enjoy earth unrestrained,

  “Do it! Take all the ancient show!

  “The woods shall wave, the rivers flow,

  “And men apparently pursue

  “Their works, as they were wont to do,

  “While living in probation yet:

  “I promise not thou shalt forget

  “The past, now gone to its account,

  “But leave thee with the old amount

  “Of faculties, nor less nor more,

  “Unvisited, as heretofore,

  “By God’s free spirit, that makes an end.

  “So, once more, take thy world; expend

  “Eternity upon its shows, —

  “Flung thee as freely as one rose

  “Out of a summer’s opulence,

  “Over the Eden-barrier whence

  “Thou art excluded, Knock in vain!”

  XXIII.

  I sate up. All was still again.

  I breathed free: to my heart, back fled

  The warmth. ‘But, all the world!’ (I said)

  I stooped and picked a leaf of fern,

  And recollected I might learn

  From books, how many myriad sorts

  Exist, if one may trust reports,

  Each as distinct and beautiful

  As this, the very first I cull.

  Think, from the first leaf to the last!

  Conceive, then, earth’s resources! Vast

  Exhaustless beauty, endless change

  Of wonder! and this foot shall range

  Alps, Andes, — and this eye devour

  The bee-bird and the aloe-flower?

  XXIV.

  And the Voice, “Welcome so to rate

  “The arras-folds that variegate

  “The earth, God’s antechamber, well!

  “The wise, who waited there, could tell

  “By these, what royalties in store

  “Lay one step past the entrance-door.

  “For whom, was reckoned, not too much,

  “This life’s munificence? For such

  “As thou, — a race, whereof not one

  “Was able, in a million,

  “To feel that any marvel lay

  “In objects round his feet all day;

  “Nor one, in many millions more,

  “Willing, if able, to explore

  “The secreter, minuter charm!

  “ — Brave souls, a fern-leaf could disarm

  “Of power to cope with God’s intent, —

  “Or scared if the South Firmament

  “With North-fire did its wings refledge!

  “All partial beauty was a pledge

  “Of beauty in its plenitude:

  “But since the pledge sufficed thy mood,

  “Retain it — plenitude be theirs

  “Who looked above!”

  XXV.

  Though sharp despairs

  Shot through me, I held up, bore on.

  ‘What is it though my trust is gone

  ‘From natural things? Henceforth my part

  ‘Be less with Nature than with Art!

  ‘For Art supplants, gives mainly worth

  ‘To Nature; ‘tis Man stamps the earth —

  ‘And I will seek his impress, seek

  ‘The statuary of the Greek,

  ‘Italy’s painting — there my choice

  ‘Shall fix!’

  XXVI.

  “Obtain it,” said the Voice.

  “The one form with its single act,

  “Which sculptors laboured to abstract,

  “The one face, painters tried to draw,

  “With its one look, from throngs they saw!

  “And that perfection in their soul,

  “These only hinted at? The whole,

  “They were but parts of? What each laid

  “His claim to glory on? — afraid

  “His fellow-men should give him rank

  “By the poor tentatives he shrank

  “Smitten at heart from, all the more,

  “That gazers pressed in to adore!

  “‘Shall I be judged by only these?’

  “If such his soul’s capacities,

  “Even while he trod the earth, — think, now

  “What pomp in Buonarotti’s brow,

  “With its new palace-brain where dwells

  “Superb the soul, unvexed by cells

  “That crumbled with the transient clay!

  “What visions will his right hand’s sway

  “Still turn to form, as still they burst

  “Upon him? How will he quench thirst,

  “Titanically infantine,

  “Laid at the breast of the Divine?

  “Does it confound thee, — this first page

  “Emblazoning man’s heritage? —

  “Can this alone absorb thy sight,

  “As if they were not infinite, —

  “Like the omnipotence which tasks

  “Itself, to furnish all that asks

  “The soul it means to satiate?

  “What was the world, the starry state

  “Of the broad skies, — what, all displays

  “Of power and beauty intermixed,

  “Which now thy soul is chained betwixt, —

  “What, else, than needful furniture

  “For life’s first stage? God’s work, be sure,

  “No more spreads wasted, than falls scant:

  “He filled, did not exceed, Man’s want

  “Of beauty in this life. And pass

  “Life’s line, — and what has earth to do,

  “Its utmost beauty’s appanage,

  “With the requirements of next stage?

  “Did God pronounce earth ‘very good’?

  “Needs must it be, while understood

  “For man’s preparatory state;

  “Nothing to heighten nor abate:

  “But transfer the completeness here,

  “To serve a new state’s use, — and drear

  “Deficiency gapes every side!

  “The good, tried once, were bad, retried.

  “See the enwrapping rocky niche,

  “Sufficient for the sleep, in which

  “The lizard breathes for ages safe:

  “Split the mould — and as this would chafe

  “The creature’s new world-widened sense,

  “One minute after you dispense

  “The thousand sounds and sights that broke

  “In, on him, at the chisel’s stroke, —

  “So, in God’s eyes, the earth’s first stuff

  “Was, neither more nor less, enough

  “To house man’s soul, man’s need fulfil.

  “You reckoned it immeasurable:

  “So thinks the lizard of his vault!

  “Could God be taken in default,

  “Short of contrivances, by you, —

  “Or reached, ere ready to pursue

  “His progress through eternity?

  “That chambered rock, the lizard’s world,

  “Your easy mallet’s blow has hurled
r />   “To nothingness for ever; so,

  “Has God abolished at a blow

  “This world, wherein his saints were pent, —

  “Who, though, found grateful and content,

  “With the provision there, as thou,

  “Yet knew He would not disallow

  “Their spirit’s hunger, felt as well, —

  “Unsated, — not unsatable,

  “As Paradise gives proof. Deride

  “Their choice now, thou who sit’st outside!”

  XXVII.

  I cried in anguish, ‘Mind, the mind,

  ‘So miserably cast behind,

  ‘To gain what had been wisely lost!

  ‘Oh, let me strive to make the most

  ‘Of the poor stinted soul, I nipped

  ‘Of budding wings, else well equipt

  ‘For voyage from summer isle to isle!

  ‘And though she needs must reconcile

  ‘Ambition to the life on ground,

  ‘Still, I can profit by late found

  ‘But precious knowledge. Mind is best —

  ‘I will seize mind, forego the rest

  ‘And try how far my tethered strength

  ‘May crawl in this poor breadth and length.

  ‘ — Let me, since I can fly no more,

  ‘At least spin dervish-like about

  ‘(Till giddy rapture almost doubt

  ‘I fly) through circling sciences,

  ‘Philosophies and histories!

  ‘Should the whirl slacken there, then Verse,

  ‘Fining to music, shall asperse

  ‘Fresh and fresh fire-dew, till I strain

  ‘Intoxicate, half-break my chain!

  ‘Not joyless, though more favoured feet

  ‘Stand calm, where I want wings to beat

  ‘The floor? At least earth’s bond is broke!”

  XXVIII.

  Then, (sickening even while I spoke

  ‘Let me alone! No answer, pray,

  ‘To this! I know what Thou wilt say

  ‘All still is earth’s, — to Know, as much

  ‘As Feel its truths, which if we touch

  ‘With sense or apprehend in soul,

  ‘What matter? I have reached the goal —

  ‘“Whereto does Knowledge serve!” will burn

  ‘My eyes, too sure, at every turn!

  ‘I cannot look back now, nor stake

  ‘Bliss on the race, for running’s sake.

  ‘The goal’s a ruin like the rest!’ —

  — ”And so much worse thy latter quest,

  (Added the Voice) “that even on earth

  “Whenever, in man’s soul, had birth

  “Those intuitions, grasps of guess,

  “That pull the more into the less,

  “Making the finite comprehend

  “Infinity, the bard would spend

  “Such praise alone, upon his craft,

  “As, when wind-lyres obey the waft,

  “Goes to the craftsman who arranged

  “The seven strings, changed them and rechanged —

  “Knowing it was the South that harped.

  “He felt his song, in singing, warped,

  “Distinguished his and God’s part: whence

  “A world of spirit as of sense

  “Was plain to him, yet not too plain,

  “Which he could traverse, not remain

  “A guest in: — else were permanent

  “Heaven upon earth, its gleams were meant

  “To sting with hunger for the light, —

  “Made visible in Verse, despite

  “The veiling weakness,-truth by means

  “Of fable, showing while it screens, —

  “Since highest truth, man e’er supplied,

  “Was ever fable on outside.

  “Such gleams made bright the earth an age;

  “Now, the whole sum’s his heritage!

  “Take up thy world, it is allowed,

  “Thou who hast entered in the cloud!

  XXIX.

  Then I — ’Behold, my spirit bleeds,

  ‘Catches no more at broken reeds, —

  ‘But lilies flower those reeds above —

  ‘I let the world go, and take love!

  ‘Love survives in me, albeit those

  ‘I loved are henceforth masks and shows,

  ‘Not loving men and women: still

  ‘I mind how love repaired all ill,

  ‘Cured wrong, soothed grief, made earth amends

  ‘With parents, brothers, children, friends!

  ‘Some semblance of a woman yet

  ‘With eyes to help me to forget,

  ‘Shall live with me; and I will match

  ‘Departed love with love, attach

  ‘Its fragments to my whole, nor scorn

  ‘Tho poorest of the grains of corn

  ‘I save from shipwreck on this isle,

  ‘Trusting its barrenness may smile

  ‘With happy foodful green one day,

  ‘More precious for the pains. I pray,

  ‘For love, then, only!’

  XXX.

  At the word,

  The Form, I looked to have been stirred

  With pity and approval, rose

  O’er me, as when the headsman throws

  Axe over shoulder to make end —

  I fell prone, letting Him expend

  His wrath, while, thus, the inflicting Voice

  Smote me. “Is this thy final choice?

  Love is the best? ‘Tis somewhat late!

  “And all thou dost enumerate

  “Of power and beauty in the world,

  “The mightiness of love was curled

  “Inextricably round about.

  “Love lay within it and without,

  “To clasp thee, — but in vain! Thy soul

  “Still shrunk from Him who made the whole,

  “Still set deliberate aside

  “His love! — Now take love! Well betide

  “Thy tardy conscience! Haste to take

  “The show of love for the name’s sake,

  “Remembering every moment Who

  “Reside creating thee unto

  “These ends, and these for thee, was said

  “To undergo death in thy stead

  “In flesh like thine: so ran the tale.

  “What doubt in thee could countervail

  “Belief in it? Upon the ground

  “‘That in the story had been found

  “‘Too much love? How could God love so?’

  “He who in all his works below

  “Adapted to the needs of man,

  “Made love the basis of the plan, —

  “Did love, as was demonstrated:

  “While man, who was so fit instead,

  “To hate, as every day gave proof, —

  “You thought man, for his kind’s behoof,

  “Both could and would invent that scheme

  “Of perfect love — ’twould well beseem

  “Cain’s nature thou wast wont to praise,

  “Not tally with God’s usual ways!”

  XXXI.

  And I cowered deprecatingly —

  ‘Thou Love of God! Or let me die,

  ‘Or grant what shall seem Heaven almost!

  ‘Let me not know that all is lost,

  ‘Though lost it be — leave me not tied

  ‘To this despair, this corpse-like bride!

  ‘Let that old life seem mine — no more —

  ‘With limitation as before,

  ‘With darkness, hunger, toil, distress:

  ‘Be all the earth a wilderness!

  ‘Only let me go on, go on,

  ‘Still hoping ever and anon

  ‘To reach one eve the Better Land!’

  XXXII.

  Then did the Form expand, expand —

  I knew Him through the dread disguise,

  As the who
le God within his eyes

  Embraced me.

  XXXIII.

  When I lived again,

  The day was breaking, — the grey plain

  I rose from, silvered thick with dew.

  Was this a vision? False or true?

  Since then, three varied years are spent,

  And commonly my mind is bent

  To think it was a dream — be sure

  A mere dream and distemperature —

  The last day’s watching: then the night, —

  The shock of that strange Northern Light

  Set my head swimming, bred in me

  A dream. And so I live, you see,

  Go through the world, try, prove, reject,

  Prefer, still struggling to effect

  My warfare; happy that I can

  Be crossed and thwarted as a man,

  Not left in God’s contempt apart,

  With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart,

  Tame in earth’s paddock as her prize.

  Thank God she still each method tries

  To catch me, who may yet escape,

  She knows, the fiend in angel’s shape!

  Thank God, no paradise stands barred

  To entry, and I find it hard

  To be a Christian, as I said!

  Still every now and then my head

  Raised glad, sinks mournful — all grows drear

  Spite of the sunshine, while I fear

  And think, ‘How dreadful to be grudged

  ‘No ease henceforth, as one that’s judged,

  ‘Condemned to earth for ever, shut

  ‘From Heaven’ . .

  But Easter-Day breaks! But

  Christ rises! Mercy every way

  Is infinite, — and who can say?

  MEN AND WOMEN

  Although initially unsuccessful in sales and with critics, this 1855 collection is now generally considered to contain some of Browning’s finest poetry. Printed in two volumes, the fifty-one poem collection was Browning’s first published work after a five year interval and the first to appear following his marriage to Elizabeth Barrett in 1846. Browning’s reputation had still not recovered from the critical failure of Sordello fifteen years previously, and the poet felt overshadowed by his wife in terms of both critical reception and commercial success. Away from the spotlight, Browning was able to work on developing his use of the dramatic monologue. Having written the two early collections Dramatic Lyrics and Dramatic Romances and Lyrics that had experimented with this poetic form, with the new collection Men and Women he developed its use even further.

  The monologues are spoken by different narrators, some identified and some not; from a diverse range of historical, religious or European situations, whilst the final monologue, One Word More, features Browning’s own voice — the poem being dedicated to his wife.

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning

  CONTENTS

  Love among the Ruins