Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  I recollect thy lesson yesterday.

  Yet — thanks, Sir, for thy leave to interrupt” . . .

  “Friend, I have finished my repast, thank God!”

  “There now, thy thanks for breaking fast on fruit! —

  Thanks being praise, or tantamount thereto.

  Prithee consider, have not things degree,

  Lofty and low? Are things not great and small,

  Thence claiming praise and wonder more or less?

  Shall we confuse them, with thy warrant too,

  Whose doctrine otherwise begins and ends

  With just this precept ‘Never faith enough

  In man as weakness, God as potency’?

  When I would pay soul’s tribute to that same,

  Why not look up in wonder, bid the stars

  Attest my praise of the All-mighty One?

  What are man’s puny members and as mean

  Requirements weighed with Star-King Mushtari?

  There is the marvel!”

  “Not to man — that’s me.

  List to what happened late, in fact or dream.

  A certain stranger, bound from far away,

  Still the Shah’s subject, found himself before

  Ispahan palace-gate. As duty bade,

  He enters in the courts, will, if he may,

  See so much glory as befits a slave

  Who only comes, of mind to testify

  How great and good is shown our lord the Shah.

  In he walks, round he casts his eye about,

  Looks up and down, admires to heart’s content,

  Ascends the gallery, tries door and door,

  None says his reverence nay: peeps in at each,

  Wonders at all the unimagined use,

  Gold here and jewels there, — so vast, that hall —

  So perfect yon pavilion! — lamps above

  Bidding look up from luxuries below, —

  Evermore wonder topping wonder, — last —

  Sudden he comes upon a cosy nook,

  A nest-like little chamber, with his name,

  His own, yea, his and no mistake at all,

  Plain o’er the entry: what, and he descries

  Just those arrangements inside, — oh, the care! —

  Suited to soul and body both, — so snug

  The cushion — nay, the pipe-stand furnished so!

  Whereat he cries aloud, — what think’st thou, Friend?

  ‘That these my slippers should be just my choice,

  Even to the colour that I most affect,

  Is nothing: ah, that lamp, the central sun,

  What must it light within its minaret

  I scarce dare guess the good of! Who lives there?

  That let me wonder at, — no slipper-toys

  Meant for the foot, forsooth, which kicks them — thus!’

  “Never enough faith in omnipotence, —

  Never too much, by parity, of faith

  In impuissance, man’s — which turns to strength

  When once acknowledged weakness every way.

  How? Hear the teaching of another tale.

  “Two men once owed the Shah a mighty sum

  Beggars they both were: this one crossed his arms

  And bowed his head, — ’whereof,’ — sighed he, — ’each hair

  Proved it a jewel, how the host’s amount

  Were idly strewn for payment at thy feet!’

  ‘Lord, here they lie, my havings poor and scant!

  All of the berries on my currant-bush,

  What roots of garlic have escaped the mice,

  And some five pippins from the seedling tree, —

  Would they were half-a-dozen! anyhow,

  Accept my all, poor beggar that I am!’

  ‘Received in full of all demands!’ smiled back

  The apportioner of every lot of ground

  From inch to acre. Littleness of love

  Befits the littleness of loving thing.

  What if he boasted ‘Seeing I am great,

  Great must my corresponding tribute be?’

  Mushtari, — well, suppose him seven times seven

  The sun’s superior, proved so by some sage:

  Am I that sage? To me his twinkle blue

  Is all I know of him and thank him for,

  And therefore I have put the same in verse —

  ‘Like yon blue twinkle, twinks thine eye, my Love!’

  “Neither shalt thou be troubled overmuch

  Because thy offering, — littleness itself, —

  Is lessened by admixture sad and strange

  Of mere man’s-motives, — praise with fear, and love

  With looking after that same love’s reward.

  Alas, Friend, what was free from this alloy, —

  Some smatch thereof, — in best and purest love

  Proffered thy earthly father? Dust thou art,

  Dust shalt be to the end. Thy father took

  The dust, and kindly called the handful — gold,

  Nor cared to count what sparkled here and there,

  Sagely unanalytic. Thank, praise, love

  (Sum up thus) for the lowest favours first,

  The commonest of comforts! aught beside

  Very omnipotence had overlooked

  Such needs, arranging for thy little life.

  Nor waste thy power of love in wonderment

  At what thou wiselier lettest shine unsoiled

  By breath of word. That this last cherry soothes

  A roughness of my palate, that I know:

  His Maker knows why Mushtari was made.”

  Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despair

  Wealth that never yet was but might be — all that verse-making were

  If the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.

  So I said “To do little is bad, to do nothing is worse” — And made verse.

  Love-making, — how simple a matter! No depths to explore,

  No heights in a life to ascend! No disheartening Before,

  No affrighting Hereafter, — love now will be love evermore.

  So I felt “To keep silence were folly:” — all language above, I made love.

  PLOT-CULTURE.

  “ Ay , but, Ferishtah,” — a disciple smirked, —

  “That verse of thine ‘How twinks thine eye, my Love,

  Blue as yon star-beam!’ much arrides myself

  Who haply may obtain a kiss therewith

  This eve from Laila where the palms abound —

  My youth, my warrant — so the palms be close!

  Suppose when thou art earnest in discourse

  Concerning high and holy things, — abrupt

  I out with — ’Laila’s lip, how honey-sweet!’ —

  What say’st thou, were it scandalous or no?

  I feel thy shoe sent flying at my mouth

  For daring — prodigy of impudence —

  Publish what, secret, were permissible.

  Well, — one slide further in the imagined slough, —

  Knee-deep therein, (respect thy reverence!) —

  Suppose me well aware thy very self

  Stooped prying through the palm-screen, while I dared

  Solace me with caressings all the same?

  Unutterable, nay — unthinkable,

  Undreamable a deed of shame! Alack,

  How will it fare shouldst thou impress on me

  That certainly an Eye is over all

  And each, to mark the minute’s deed, word, thought,

  As worthy of reward or punishment?

  Shall I permit my sense an Eye-viewed shame,

  Broad daylight perpetration, — so to speak, —

  I had not dared to breathe within the Ear,

  With black night’s help about me? Yet I stand

  A man, no monster, made of flesh not cloud:

  Why made so, if my making prove offence

  To Make
r’s eye and ear?”

  “Thou wouldst not stand

  Distinctly Man,” — Ferishtah made reply,

  “Not the mere creature, — did no limit-line

  Round thee about, apportion thee thy place

  Clean-cut from out and off the illimitable, —

  Minuteness severed from immensity.

  All of thee for the Maker, — for thyself,

  Workings inside the circle that evolve

  Thine all, — the product of thy cultured plot.

  So much of grain the ground’s lord bids thee yield

  Bring sacks to granary in Autumn! spare

  Daily intelligence of this manure,

  That compost, how they tend to feed the soil:

  There thou art master sole and absolute

  — Only, remember doomsday! Twitt’st thou me

  Because I turn away my outraged nose

  Shouldst thou obtrude thereon a shovelful

  Of fertilizing kisses? Since thy sire

  Wills and obtains thy marriage with the maid,

  Enough! Be reticent, I counsel thee,

  Nor venture to acquaint him, point by point,

  What he procures thee. Is he so obtuse?

  Keep thy instruction to thyself! My ass —

  Only from him expect acknowledgment

  The while he champs my gift, a thistle-bunch,

  How much he loves the largess: of his love

  I only tolerate so much as tells

  By wrinkling nose and inarticulate grunt,

  The meal, that heartens him to do my work,

  Tickles his palate as I meant it should.”

  Not with my Soul, Love! — bid no Soul like mine

  Lap thee around nor leave the poor Sense room!

  Soul, — travel-worn, toil-weary, — would confine

  Along with Soul, Soul’s gains from glow and gloom,

  Captures from soarings high and divings deep.

  Spoil-laden Soul, how should such memories sleep?

  Take Sense, too — let me love entire and whole —

  Not with my Soul!

  Eyes shall meet eyes and find no eyes between,

  Lips feed on lips, no other lips to fear!

  No past, no future — so thine arms but screen

  The present from surprise! not there, ‘t is here —

  Not then, ‘t is now: — back, memories that intrude!

  Make, Love, the universe our solitude,

  And, over all the rest, oblivion roll —

  Sense quenching Soul!

  A PILLAR AT SEBZEVAR.

  “ Knowledge deposed, then!” — groaned whom that most grieved

  As foolishest of all the company.

  “What, knowledge, man’s distinctive attribute,

  He doffs that crown to emulate an ass

  Because the unknowing long-ears loves at least

  Husked lupines, and belike the feeder’s self

  — Whose purpose in the dole what ass divines?”

  “Friend,” quoth Ferishtah, “all I seem to know

  Is — I know nothing save that love I can

  Boundlessly, endlessly. My curls were crowned

  In youth with knowledge, — off, alas, crown slipped

  Next moment, pushed by better knowledge still

  Which nowise proved more constant: gain, to-day,

  Was toppling loss to-morrow, lay at last

  — Knowledge, the golden? — lacquered ignorance!

  As gain — mistrust it! Not as means to gain:

  Lacquer we learn by: cast in fining-pot,

  We learn, — when what seemed ore assayed proves dross, —

  Surelier true gold’s worth, guess how purity

  I’ the lode were precious could one light on ore

  Clarified up to test of crucible.

  The prize is in the process: knowledge means

  Ever-renewed assurance by defeat

  That victory is somehow still to reach,

  But love is victory, the prize itself:

  Love — trust to! Be rewarded for the trust

  In trust’s mere act. In love success is sure,

  Attainment — no delusion, whatsoe’er

  The prize be: apprehended as a prize,

  A prize it is. Thy child as surely grasps

  An orange as he fails to grasp the sun

  Assumed his capture. What if soon he finds

  The foolish fruit unworthy grasping? Joy

  In shape and colour, — that was joy as true —

  Worthy in its degree of love — as grasp

  Of sun were, which had singed his hand beside.

  What if he said the orange held no juice

  Since it was not that sun he hoped to suck?

  This constitutes the curse that spoils our life

  And sets man maundering of his misery,

  That there’s no meanest atom he obtains

  Of what he counts for knowledge but he cries

  ‘Hold here, — I have the whole thing, — know, this time,

  Nor need search farther!’ Whereas, strew his path

  With pleasures, and he scorns them while he stoops:

  ‘This fitly call’st thou pleasure, pick up this

  And praise it, truly? I reserve my thanks

  For something more substantial.’ Fool not thus

  In practising with life and its delights!

  Enjoy the present gift, nor wait to know

  The unknowable. Enough to say ‘I feel

  Love’s sure effect, and, being loved, must love

  The love its cause behind, — I can and do!’

  Nor turn to try thy brain-power on the fact,

  (Apart from as it strikes thee, here and now —

  Its how and why, i’ the future and elsewhere)

  Except to — yet once more, and ever again,

  Confirm thee in thy utter ignorance:

  Assured that, whatsoe’er the quality

  Of love’s cause, save that love was caused thereby,

  This — nigh upon revealment as it seemed

  A minute since — defies thy longing looks,

  Withdrawn into the unknowable once more.

  Wholly distrust thy knowledge, then, and trust

  As wholly love allied to ignorance!

  There lies thy truth and safety. Love is praise,

  And praise is love! Refine the same, contrive

  An intellectual tribute — ignorance

  Appreciating ere approbative

  Of knowledge that is infinite? With us

  The small, who use the knowledge of our kind

  Greater than we, more wisely ignorance

  Restricts its apprehension, sees and knows

  No more than brain accepts in faith of sight,

  Takes first what comes first, only sure so far.

  By Sebzevar a certain pillar stands

  So aptly that its gnomon tells the hour;

  What if the townsmen said ‘Before we thank

  Who placed it, for his serviceable craft,

  And go to dinner since its shade tells noon,

  Needs must we have the craftsman’s purpose clear

  On half a hundred more recondite points

  Than a mere summons to a vulgar meal!’

  Better they say ‘How opportune the help!

  Be loved and praised, thou kindly-hearted sage

  Whom Hudhud taught, — the gracious spirit-bird, —

  How to construct the pillar, teach the time!’

  So let us say — not ‘Since we know, we love,’

  But rather ‘Since we love, we know enough.’

  Perhaps the pillar by a spell controlled

  Mushtari in his courses? Added grace

  Surely I count it that the sage devised,

  Beside celestial service, ministry

  To all the land, by one sharp shade at noon

  Falling as folk foresee. Once more then, Friend —

  (What
ever in those careless ears of thine

  Withal I needs must round thee) — knowledge doubt

  Even wherein it seems demonstrable!

  Love, — in the claim for love, that’s gratitude

  For apprehended pleasure, nowise doubt!

  Pay its due tribute, — sure that pleasure is,

  While knowledge may be, at the most. See, now!

  Eating my breakfast, I thanked God. — ’For love

  Shown in the cherries’ flavour? Consecrate

  So petty an example?’ There’s the fault!

  We circumscribe omnipotence. Search sand

  To unearth water: if first handful scooped

  Yields thee a draught, what need of digging down

  Full fifty fathoms deep to find a spring

  Whereof the pulse might deluge half the land?

  Drain the sufficient drop, and praise what checks

  The drouth that glues thy tongue, — what more would help

  A brimful cistern? Ask the cistern’s boon

  When thou wouldst solace camels: in thy case,

  Relish the drop and love the loveable!”

  “And what may be unloveable?”

  “Why, hate!

  If out of sand comes sand and nought but sand

  Affect not to be quaffing at mirage,

  Nor nickname pain as pleasure. That, belike,

  Constitutes just the trial of thy wit

  And worthiness to gain promotion, — hence,

  Proves the true purpose of thine actual life.

  Thy soul’s environment of things perceived,

  Things visible and things invisible,

  Fact, fancy — all was purposed to evolve

  This and this only — was thy wit of worth

  To recognize the drop’s use, love the same,

  And loyally declare against mirage

  Though all the world asseverated dust

  Was good to drink? Say, ‘what made moist my lip,

  That I acknowledged moisture:’ thou art saved!

  “For why? The creature and creator stand

  Rightly related so. Consider well!

  Were knowledge all thy faculty, then God

  Must be ignored: love gains him by first leap.

  Frankly accept the creatureship: ask good

  To love for: press bold to the tether’s end

  Allotted to this life’s intelligence!

  ‘So we offend?’ Will it offend thyself

  If, — impuissance praying potency, —

  Thy child beseech that thou command the sun

  Rise bright to-morrow — thou, he thinks supreme

  In power and goodness, why shouldst thou refuse?

  Afterward, when the child matures, perchance

  The fault were greater if, with wit full-grown,

  The stripling dared to ask for a dinar,

  Than that the boy cried ‘Pluck Sitara down