Browning's Shorter Poems Part 17

As the earth had done her best, in my pa.s.sion, to scale the sky: Novel splendours burst forth, grew familiar and dwelt with mine.

Not a point nor peak but found and fixed its wandering star; 30 Meteor-moons, b.a.l.l.s of blaze: and they did not pale nor pine, For earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far.

Nay more; for there wanted not who walked, in the glare and glow, Presences plain in the place; or, fresh, from the Protoplast, Furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow, Lured now to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last: Or else the wonderful Dead who have pa.s.sed thro' the body and gone, But were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new: What never had been, was now; what was, as it shall be anon; And what is,--shall I say, matched both? for I was made perfect too. 40

All thro' my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul, All thro' my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth, All thro' music and me! For think, had I painted the whole, Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder-worth: Had I written the same, made verse--still, effect proceeds from cause, Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told; It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws, Painter and poet are proud, in the artist-list enrolled:--

But here is the finger of G.o.d, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them, and, lo, they are! 50 And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.

Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is naught; It is everywhere in the world--loud, soft, and all is said: Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought, And, there! Ye have heard and seen; consider and bow the head!

Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared; Gone! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow; For one is a.s.sured at first, one scarce can say that he feared, That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go. 60 Never to be again! But many more of the kind As good, nay, better perchance: is this your comfort to me?

To me, who must be saved because I cling with my mind To the same, same self, same love, same G.o.d: ay, what was, shall be.

Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name?

Builder and maker, Thou, of houses not made with hands!

What, have fear of change from Thee who art ever the same?

Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands?

There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; 70 What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.

All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist, When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.

The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard.

The pa.s.sion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to G.o.d by the lover and the bard; Enough that he heard it once; we shall hear it by and by. 80

And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonized?

Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence?

Why rushed the discords in but that harmony should be prized?

Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe: But G.o.d has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians know.

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign: I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. 90 Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor,--yes, And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the deep: Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found, The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.

RABBI BEN EZRA

Grow old along with me! 1 The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in His hand Who saith "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust G.o.d: see all, nor be afraid!"

Not that, ama.s.sing flowers, Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall!"

Not that, admiring stars, 10 It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!"

Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!

Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.

Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed 20 On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?

Rejoice we are allied To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive!

A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of G.o.d. 29 Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. 30

Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!

Be our joys three-parts pain!

Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

For thence,--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, 40 And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.

What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play?

To man, propose this test-- Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way?

Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse 50 Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole; Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn?"

Not once beat "Praise be Thine!

I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now love perfect too: Perfect I call Thy plan: Thanks that I was a man!

Maker, remake, complete,--I trust what Thou shall do!" 60

For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul, in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Possessions of the brute,--gain most, as we did best!

Let us not always say, "Spite of this flesh to-day I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!"

As the bird wings and sings, 70 Let us cry "All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!"

Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, Life's struggle having so far reached its term: Thence shall I pa.s.s, approved A man, for aye removed From the developed brute; a G.o.d tho' in the germ.

And I shall thereupon Take rest, ere I be gone 80 Once more on my adventure brave and new: Fearless and unperplexed, When I wage battle next, What weapons to select, what armour to indue.

Youth ended, I shall try My gain or loss thereby; Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame: Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. 90

For, note when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: A whisper from the west Shoots--"Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth: here dies another day."

So, still within this life, Tho' lifted o'er its strife, Let me discern, compare, p.r.o.nounce at last, "This rage was right i' the main, 100 That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past."

For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.

As it was better, youth Should strive, thro' acts uncouth, 110 Toward making, than repose on aught found made: So, better, age, exempt From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death, nor be afraid!

Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, 117 With knowledge absolute, Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. 120

Be there, for once and all, Severed great minds from small, Announced to each his station in the Past!

Was I, the world arraigned, 124 Were they, my soul disdained, Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last!

Now, who shall arbitrate?

Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten, who in ears and eyes 130 Match me: we all surmise, They, this thing, and I, that: whom shall my soul believe?

Not on the vulgar ma.s.s Called "work," must sentence pa.s.s, Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straight way to its mind, could value in a trice:

But all, the world's coa.r.s.e thumb And finger failed to plumb, 140 So pa.s.sed in making up the main account: All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: 144

Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke thro' language and escaped: All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to G.o.d, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 150

Ay, note that Potter's wheel, 151 That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why pa.s.sive lies our clay,-- Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!"