Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  “Who breathe its salt and bruise its sands:

  V.

  “While . . . do but follow the fishing-gull

  ”That flaps and floats from wave to cave!

  “There’s the sea-lover, fair my friend!

  ”What then? Be patient, mark and mend!

  “Had you the making of your scull?”

  VI.

  And did you, when we faced the church

  With spire and sad slate roof, aloof

  From human fellowship so far,

  Where a few graveyard crosses are,

  And garlands for the swallows’ perch, —

  VII.

  Did you determine, as we stepped

  O’er the lone stone fence, “Let me get

  “Her for myself, and what’s the earth

  ”With all its art, verse, music, worth —

  “Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?

  VIII.

  “Schumann’s our music-maker now;

  ”Has his march-movement youth and mouth?

  “Ingres’s the modern man that paints;

  ”Which will lean on me, of his saints?

  “Heine for songs; for kisses, how?”

  IX.

  And did you, when we entered, reached

  The votive frigate, soft aloft

  Riding on air this hundred years,

  Safe-smiling at old hopes and fears, —

  Did you draw profit while she preached?

  X.

  Resolving, “Fools we wise men grow!

  ”Yes, I could easily blurt out curt

  “Some question that might find reply

  ”As prompt in her stopped lips, dropped eye,

  “And rush of red to cheek and brow:

  XI.

  “Thus were a match made, sure and fast,

  ”‘Mid the blue weed-flowers round the mound

  “Where, issuing, we shall stand and stay

  ”For one more look at baths and bay,

  “Sands, sea-gulls, and the old church last —

  XII.

  “A match ‘twixt me, bent, wigged and lamed,

  ”Famous, however, for verse and worse,

  “Sure of the Fortieth spare Arm-chair

  ”When gout and glory seat me there,

  “So, one whose love-freaks pass unblamed, —

  XIII.

  “And this young beauty, round and sound

  ”As a mountain-apple, youth and truth

  “With loves and doves, at all events

  ”With money in the Three per Cents;

  “Whose choice of me would seem profound: —

  XIV.

  “She might take me as I take her.

  ”Perfect the hour would pass, alas!

  “Climb high, love high, what matter? Still,

  ”Feet, feelings, must descend the hill:

  “An hour’s perfection can’t recur.

  XV.

  “Then follows Paris and full time

  ”For both to reason: ‘Thus with us!’

  “She’ll sigh, ‘Thus girls give body and soul

  ”‘At first word, think they gain the goal,

  “‘When ‘t is the starting-place they climb!

  XVI.

  “‘My friend makes verse and gets renown;

  ”‘Have they all fifty years, his peers?

  “He knows the world, firm, quiet and gay;

  ”‘Boys will become as much one day:

  “‘They’re fools; he cheats, with beard less brown.

  XVII.

  “‘For boys say, Love one or I die!

  ”‘He did not say, The truth is, youth

  “‘I want, who am old and know too much;

  ”‘I’d catch youth: lend one sight and touch!

  “‘Drop heart’s blood where life’s wheels grate dry!

  XVIII.

  “While I should make rejoinder” — (then

  It was, no doubt, you ceased that least

  Light pressure of my arm in yours)

  ”‘I can conceive of cheaper cures

  “‘For a yawning-fit o’er books and men.

  XIX.

  “‘What? All I am, was, and might be,

  ”‘All, books taught, art brought, life’s whole strife,

  “‘Painful results since precious, just

  ”‘Were fitly exchanged, in wise disgust,

  “‘For two cheeks freshened by youth and sea?

  XX.

  “‘All for a nosegay! — what came first;

  ”‘With fields on flower, untried each side;

  “‘I rally, need my books and men,

  ”‘And find a nosegay’: drop it, then,

  “‘No match yet made for best or worst!”

  XXI.

  That ended me. You judged the porch

  We left by, Norman; took our look

  At sea and sky; wondered so few

  Find out the place for air and view;

  Remarked the sun began to scorch;

  XXII.

  Descended, soon regained the baths,

  And then, good-bye! Years ten since then:

  Ten years! We meet: you tell me, now,

  By a window-seat for that cliff-brow,

  On carpet-stripes for those sand-paths.

  XXIII.

  Now I may speak: you fool, for all

  Your lore! WHO made things plain in vain?

  What was the sea for? What, the grey

  Sad church, that solitary day,

  Crosses and graves and swallows’ call?

  XXIV.

  Was there nought better than to enjoy?

  No feat which, done, would make time break

  And let us pent-up creatures through

  Into eternity, our due?

  No forcing earth teach heaven’s employ?

  XXV.

  No wise beginning, here and now,

  What cannot grow complete (earth’s feat)

  And heaven must finish, there and then?

  No tasting earth’s true food for men,

  Its sweet in sad, its sad in sweet?

  XXVI.

  No grasping at love, gaining a share

  O’ the sole spark from God’s life at strife

  With death, so, sure of range above

  The limits here? For us and love,

  Failure; but, when God fails, despair.

  XXVII.

  This you call wisdom? Thus you add

  Good unto good again, in vain?

  You loved, with body worn and weak;

  I loved, with faculties to seek:

  Were both loves worthless since ill-clad?

  XXVIII.

  Let the mere star-fish in his vault

  Crawl in a wash of weed, indeed,

  Rose-jacynth to the finger-tips:

  He, whole in body and soul, outstrips

  Man, found with either in default.

  XXIX.

  But what’s whole, can increase no more,

  Is dwarfed and dies, since here’s its sphere.

  The devil laughed at you in his sleeve!

  You knew not? That I well believe;

  Or you had saved two souls: nay, four.

  XXX.

  For Stephanie sprained last night her wrist,

  Ankle or something. “Pooh,” cry you?

  At any rate she danced, all say,

  Vilely; her vogue has had its day.

  Here comes my husband from his whist.

  Too Late

  I.

  HERE was I with my arm and heart

  And brain, all yours for a word, a want

  Put into a look — just a look, your part, —

  While mine, to repay it . . . vainest vaunt,

  Were the woman, that’s dead, alive to hear,

  Had her lover, that’s lost, love’s proof to show!

  But I cannot show it; you cannot speak

  From the churchyard neither, miles removed,

/>   Though I feel by a pulse within my cheek,

  Which stabs and stops, that the woman I loved

  Needs help in her grave and finds none near,

  Wants warmth from the heart which sends it — so!

  II.

  Did I speak once angrily, all the drear days

  You lived, you woman I loved so well,

  Who married the other? Blame or praise,

  Where was the use then? Time would tell,

  And the end declare what man for you,

  What woman for me, was the choice of God.

  But, Edith dead! no doubting more!

  I used to sit and look at my life

  As it rippled and ran till, right before,

  A great stone stopped it: oh, the strife

  Of waves at the stone some devil threw

  In my life’s midcurrent, thwarting God!

  III.

  But either I thought, “They may churn and chide

  ”Awhile, my waves which came for their joy

  “And found this horrible stone full-tide:

  ”Yet I see just a thread escape, deploy

  “Through the evening-country, silent and safe,

  ”And it suffers no more till it finds the sea.”

  Or else I would think, “Perhaps some night

  ”When new things happen, a meteor-ball

  “May slip through the sky in a line of light,

  ”And earth breathe hard, and landmarks fall,

  “And my waves no longer champ nor chafe,

  ”Since a stone will have rolled from its place: let be!”

  IV.

  But, dead! All’s done with: wait who may,

  Watch and wear and wonder who will.

  Oh, my whole life that ends to-day!

  Oh, my soul’s sentence, sounding still,

  “The woman is dead that was none of his;

  ”And the man that was none of hers may go!”

  There’s only the past left: worry that!

  Wreak, like a bull, on the empty coat,

  Rage, its late wearer is laughing at!

  Tear the collar to rags, having missed his throat;

  Strike stupidly on — ”This, this and this,

  ”Where I would that a bosom received the blow!

  V.

  I ought to have done more: once my speech,

  And once your answer, and there, the end,

  And Edith was henceforth out of reach!

  Why, men do more to deserve a friend,

  Be rid of a foe, get rich, grow wise,

  Nor, folding their arms, stare fate in the face.

  Why, better even have burst like a thief

  And borne you away to a rock for us two,

  In a moment’s horror, bright, bloody and brief:

  Then changed to myself again — ”I slew

  “Myself in that moment; a ruffian lies

  ”Somewhere: your slave, see, born in his place!”

  VI.

  What did the other do? You be judge!

  Look at us, Edith! Here are we both!

  Give him his six whole years: I grudge

  None of the life with you, nay, loathe

  Myself that I grudged his start in advance

  Of me who could overtake and pass.

  But, as if he loved you! No, not he,

  Nor anyone else in the world, ‘t is plain:

  Who ever heard that another, free

  As I, young, prosperous, sound and sane,

  Poured life out, proffered it — ”Half a glance

  ”Of those eyes of yours and I drop the glass!”

  VII.

  Handsome, were you? ‘T is more than they held,

  More than they said; I was ‘ware and watched:

  I was the ‘scapegrace, this rat belled

  The cat, this fool got his whiskers scratched:

  The others? No head that was turned, no heart

  Broken, my lady, assure yourself!

  Each soon made his mind up; so and so

  Married a dancer, such and such

  Stole his friend’s wife, stagnated slow,

  Or maundered, unable to do as much,

  And muttered of peace where he had no part

  While, hid in the closet, laid on the shelf, —

  VIII.

  On the whole, you were let alone, I think!

  So, you looked to the other, who acquiesced;

  My rival, the proud man, — prize your pink

  Of poets! A poet he was! I’ve guessed:

  He rhymed you his rubbish nobody read,

  Loved you and doved you — did not I laugh!

  There was a prize! But we both were tried.

  Oh, heart of mine, marked broad with her mark,

  Tekel, found wanting, set aside,

  Scorned! See, I bleed these tears in the dark

  Till comfort come and the last he bled:

  He? He is tagging your epitaph.

  IX.

  If it would only come over again!

  — Time to be patient with me, and probe

  This heart till you punctured the proper vein,

  Just to learn what blood is: twitch the robe

  From that blank lay-figure your fancy draped,

  Prick the leathern heart till the — verses spirt!

  And late it was easy; late, you walked

  Where a friend might meet you; Edith’s name

  Arose to one’s lip if one laughed or talked;

  If I heard good news, you heard the same;

  When I woke, I knew that your breath escaped;

  I could bide my time, keep alive, alert.

  X.

  And alive I shall keep and long, you will see!

  I knew a man, was kicked like a dog

  From gutter to cesspool; what cared he

  So long as he picked from the filth his prog?

  He saw youth, beauty and genius die,

  And jollily lived to his hundredth year.

  But I will live otherwise: none of such life!

  At once I begin as I mean to end.

  Go on with the world, get gold in its strife,

  Give your spouse the slip and betray your friend!

  There are two who decline, a woman and I,

  And enjoy our death in the darkness here.

  XI.

  I liked that way you had with your curls

  Wound to a ball in a net behind:

  Your cheek was chaste as a quaker-girl’s,

  And your mouth — there was never, to my mind,

  Such a funny mouth, for it would not shut;

  And the dented chin too — what a chin

  There were certain ways when you spoke, some words

  That you know you never could pronounce:

  You were thin, however; like a bird’s

  Your hand seemed — some would say, the pounce

  Of a scaly-footed hawk — all but!

  The world was right when it called you thin.

  XII.

  But I turn my back on the world: I take

  Your hand, and kneel, and lay to my lips.

  Bid me live, Edith! Let me slake

  Thirst at your presence! Fear no slips:

  ‘T is your slave shall pay, while his soul endures,

  Full due, love’s whole debt, summum jus.

  My queen shall have high observance, planned

  Courtship made perfect, no least line

  Crossed without warrant. There you stand,

  Warm too, and white too: would this wine

  Had washed all over that body of yours,

  Ere I drank it, and you down with it, thus!

  Abt Vogler

  (After he has been extemporizing upon the musical instrument of his invention)

  I.

  WOULD that the structure brave, the manifold music I build,

  Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work,

  Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, a
s when Solomon willed

  Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk,

  Man, brute, reptile, fly, — alien of end and of aim,

  Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed, —

  Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name,

  And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved!

  II.

  Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine,

  This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!

  Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine,

  Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!

  And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell,

  Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things,

  Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well,

  Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.

  III.

  And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was,

  Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest,

  Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass,

  Eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest:

  For higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire,

  When a great illumination surprises a festal night —

  Outlining round and round Rome’s dome from space to spire)

  Up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight.

  IV.

  In sight? Not half! for it seemed, it was certain, to match man�s birth,

  Nature in turn conceived, obeying an impulse as I;

  And the emulous heaven yearned down, made effort to reach the earth,

  As the earth had done her best, in my passion, 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;

  Meteor-moons, balls of blaze: and they did not pale nor pine,

  For earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far.

  V.

  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 passed through 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.

  VI.

  All through my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul,

  All through my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth,

  All through music and me! For think, had I painted the whole,