ROBERT BROWNING
"... a man''s reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?"
From "Andrea Del Sarto"(1812-1889) MY LAST DUCHESS 1842 That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart . . . how shall I say? . . . too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace--all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good; but thanked Somehow . . . I know not how . . . as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, --E'en then would be some stooping; and I chuse Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet The company below, then. I repeat, The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, Sir! Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. _____________________________________________
ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889) HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD 1845 Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower --Far brighter than this gaudy melon--flower! _____________________________________________
ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889) CONFESSIONS 1864 What is he buzzing in my ears? "Now that I come to die, Do I view the world as a vale of tears?" Ah, reverend sir, not I! What I viewed there once, what I view again Where the physic bottles stand On the table's edge,--is a suburb lane, With a wall to my bedside hand. That lane sloped, much as the bottles do, From a house you could descry O'er the garden-wall; is the curtain blue Or green to a healthy eye? To mine, it serves for the old June weather Blue above lane and wall; And that farthest bottle labelled "Ether" Is the house o'ertopping all. At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper, There watched for me, one June, A girl: I know, sir, it's improper, My poor mind's out of tune. Only, there was a way... you crept Close by the side, to dodge Eyes in the house, two eyes except: They styled their house "The Lodge." What right had a lounger up their lane? But, by creeping very close, With the good wall's help,--their eyes might strain And stretch themselves to Oes, Yet never catch her and me together, As she left the attic, there, By the rim of the bottle labelled "Ether," And stole from stair to stair, And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas, We loved, sir--used to meet: How sad and bad and mad it was-- But then, how it was sweet! _____________________________________________
ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889) RABBI BEN EZRA 1864 1 Grow old along with me! 2 The best is yet to be, 3 The last of life, for which the first was made: 4 Our times are in His hand 5 Who saith "A whole I planned, 6 Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!'' 7 Not that, amassing flowers, 8 Youth sighed "Which rose make ours, 9 Which lily leave and then as best recall?" 10 Not that, admiring stars, 11 It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars; 12 Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!" 13 Not for such hopes and fears 14 Annulling youth's brief years, 15 Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! 16 Rather I prize the doubt 17 Low kinds exist without, 18 Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. 19 Poor vaunt of life indeed, 20 Were man but formed to feed 21 On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: 22 Such feasting ended, then 23 As sure an end to men; 24 Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? 25 Rejoice we are allied 26 To That which doth provide 27 And not partake, effect and not receive! 28 A spark disturbs our clod; 29 Nearer we hold of God 30 Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. 31 Then, welcome each rebuff 32 That turns earth's smoothness rough, 33 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! 34 Be our joys three-parts pain! 35 Strive, and hold cheap the strain; 36 Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! 37 For thence,--a paradox 38 Which comforts while it mocks,-- 39 Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: 40 What I aspired to be, 41 And was not, comforts me: 42 A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. 43 What is he but a brute 44 Whose flesh has soul to suit, 45 Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? 46 To man, propose this test-- 47 Thy body at its best, 48 How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? 49 Yet gifts should prove their use: 50 I own the Past profuse 51 Of power each side, perfection every turn: 52 Eyes, ears took in their dole, 53 Brain treasured up the whole; 54 Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn?" 55 Not once beat "Praise be Thine! 56 I see the whole design, 57 I, who saw power, see now love perfect too: 58 Perfect I call Thy plan: 59 Thanks that I was a man! 60 Maker, remake, complete,--I trust what Thou shalt do!" 61 For pleasant is this flesh; 62 Our soul, in its rose-mesh 63 Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest; 64 Would we some prize might hold 65 To match those manifold 66 Possessions of the brute,--gain most, as we did best! 67 Let us not always say, 68 "Spite of this flesh to-day 69 I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!" 70 As the bird wings and sings, 71 Let us cry "All good things 72 Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!" 73 Therefore I summon age 74 To grant youth's heritage, 75 Life's struggle having so far reached its term: 76 Thence shall I pass, approved 77 A man, for aye removed 78 From the developed brute; a god though in the germ. 79 And I shall thereupon 80 Take rest, ere I be gone 81 Once more on my adventure brave and new: 82 Fearless and unperplexed, 83 When I wage battle next, 84 What weapons to select, what armour to indue. 85 Youth ended, I shall try 86 My gain or loss thereby; 87 Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: 88 And I shall weigh the same, 89 Give life its praise or blame: 90 Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. 91 For note, when evening shuts, 92 A certain moment cuts 93 The deed off, calls the glory from the grey: 94 A whisper from the west 95 Shoots--"Add this to the rest, 96 Take it and try its worth: here dies another day." 97 So, still within this life, 98 Though lifted o'er its strife, 99 Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, 100 This rage was right i' the main, 101 That acquiescence vain: 102 The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." 103 For more is not reserved 104 To man, with soul just nerved 105 To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: 106 Here, work enough to watch 107 The Master work, and catch 108 Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. 109 As it was better, youth 110 Should strive, through acts uncouth, 111 Toward making, than repose on aught found made: 112 So, better, age, exempt 113 From strife, should know, than tempt 114 Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death nor be afraid! 115 Enough now, if the Right 116 And Good and Infinite 117 Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own 118 With knowledge absolute, 119 Subject to no dispute 120 From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. 121 Be there, for once and all, 122 Severed great minds from small, 123 Announced to each his station in the Past! 124 Was I, the world arraigned, 125 Were they, my soul disdained, 126 Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! 127 Now, who shall arbitrate? 128 Ten men love what I hate, 129 Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; 130 Ten, who in ears and eyes 131 Match me: we all surmise, 132 They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe? 133 Not on the vulgar mass 134 Called "work," must sentence pass, 135 Things done, that took the eye and had the price; 136 O'er which, from level stand, 137 The low world laid its hand, 138 Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: 139 But all, the world's coarse thumb 140 And finger failed to plumb, 141 So passed in making up the main account; 142 All instincts immature, 143 All purposes unsure, 144 That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: 145 Thoughts hardly to be packed 146 Into a narrow act, 147 Fancies that broke through language and escaped; 148 All I could never be, 149 All, men ignored in me, 150 This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 151 Ay, note that Potter's wheel, 152 That metaphor! and feel 153 Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay,-- 154 Thou, to whom fools propound, 155 When the wine makes its round, 156 "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" 157 Fool! All that is, at all, 158 Lasts ever, past recall; 159 Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: 160 What entered into thee, 161 That was, is, and shall be: 162 Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure. 163 He fixed thee mid this dance 164 Of plastic circumstance, 165 This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: 166 Machinery just meant 167 To give thy soul its bent, 168 Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. 169 What though the earlier grooves, 170 Which ran the laughing loves 171 Around thy base, no longer pause and press? 172 What though, about thy rim, 173 Skull-things in order grim 174 Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? 175 Look not thou down but up! 176 To uses of a cup, 177 The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, 178 The new wine's foaming flow, 179 The Master's lips a-glow! 180 Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what need'st thou with earth's wheel? 181 But I need, now as then, 182 Thee, God, who mouldest men; 183 And since, not even while the whirl was worst, 184 Did I,--to the wheel of life 185 With shapes and colours rife, 186 Bound dizzily,--mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst: 187 So, take and use Thy work: 188 Amend what flaws may lurk, 189 What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim! 190 My times be in Thy hand! 191 Perfect the cup as planned! 192 Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same. 1. Ben Ezra, a Spanish Jew who lived in the twelfth century, was a distinguished scholar. The End