Robert Browning - The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition

And, as I pondered on them all, I sought

How best life’s end might be attained — an end

Comprising every joy. I deeply mused.

And suddenly, without heart-wreck, I awoke

As from a dream — I said, ’twas beautiful,

Yet but a dream; and so adieu to it.

As some world-wanderer sees in a far meadow

Strange towers, and walled gardens, thick with trees,

Where singing goes on, and delicious mirth,

And laughing fairy creatures peeping over,

And on the morrow, when he comes to live

For ever by those springs, and trees, fruit-flushed

And fairy bowers — all his search is vain.

Well I remember …

First went my hopes of perfecting mankind,

And faith in them — then freedom in itself,

And virtue in itself — and then my motives’ ends,

And powers and loves; and human love went last.

I felt this no decay, because new powers

Rose as old feelings left — wit, mockery,

And happiness; for I had oft been sad.

Mistrusting my resolves: but now I cast

Hope joyously away — I laughed and said,

“No more of this” — I must not think; at length

I look’d again to see how all went on.

My powers were greater — as some temple seemed

My soul, where nought is changed, and incense rolls

Around the altar — only God is gone,

And some dark spirit sitteth in His seat!

So I passed through the temple: and to me

Knelt troops of shadows; and they cried, “Hail, king!

“We serve thee now, and thou shalt serve no more!

“Call on us, prove us, let us worship thee!”

And I said, “Are ye strong — let fancy bear me

“Far from the past.” — And I was borne away

As Arab birds float sleeping in the wind,

O’er deserts, towers, and forests, I being calm;

And I said, “I have nursed up energies,

“They will prey on me.” And a band knelt low,

And cried, “Lord, we are here, and we will make

“A way for thee — in thine appointed life

“O look on us!” And I said, “Ye will worship

“Me; but my heart must worship too.” They shouted,

“Thyself — thou art our king!” So I stood there

Smiling …

And buoyant and rejoicing was the spirit

With which I looked out how to end my days;

I felt once more myself — my powers were mine;

I found that youth or health so lifted me,

That, spite of all life’s vanity, no grief

Came nigh me — I must ever be lighthearted;

And that this feeling was the only veil

Betwixt me and despair: so if age came,

I should be as a wreck linked to a soul

Yet fluttering, or mind-broken, and aware

Of my decay. So a long summer morn

Found me; and e’er noon came, I had resolved

No age should come on me, ere youth’s hopes went,

For I would wear myself out — like that morn

Which wasted not a sunbeam — every joy

I would make mine, and die; and thus I sought

To chain my spirit down, which I had fed

With thoughts of fame. I said, the troubled life

Of genius seen so bright when working forth

Some trusted end, seems sad, when all in vain —

Most sad, when men have parted with all joy

For their wild fancy’s sake, which waited first,

As an obedient spirit, when delight

Came not with her alone, but alters soon,

Coming darkened, seldom, hasting to depart,

Leaving a heavy darkness and warm tears.

But I shall never lose her; she will live

Brighter for such seclusion — I but catch

A hue, a glance of what I sing; so pain

Is linked with pleasure, for I ne’er may tell

The radiant sights which dazzle me; but now

They shall be all my own, and let them fade

Untold — others shall rise as fair, as fast.

And when all’s done, the few dim gleams transferred, —

(For a new thought sprung up — that it were well

To leave all shadowy hopes, and weave such lays

As would encircle me with praise and love;

So I should not die utterly — I should bring

One branch from the gold forest, like the night

Of old tales, witnessing I had been there,) —

And when all’s done, how vain seems e’en success,

And all the influence poets have o’er men!

’Tis a fine thing that one, weak as myself,

Should sit in his lone room, knowing the words

He utters in his solitude shall move

Men like a swift wind — that tho’ he be forgotten,

Fair eyes shall glisten when his beauteous dreams

Of love come true in happier frames than his.

Ay, the still night brought thoughts like these, but morn

Came, and the mockery again laughed out

At hollow praises, and smiles, almost sneers;

And my soul’s idol seemed to whisper me

To dwell with him and his unhonoured name —

And I well knew my spirit, that would be

First in the struggle, and again would make

All bow to it; and I would sink again.

. . . . .

And then know that this curse will come on us,

To see our idols perish — we may wither,

Nor marvel — we are clay; but our low fate

Should not extend them, whom trustingly,

We sent before into Time’s yawning gulf,

To face what e’er may lurk in darkness there —

To see the painter’s glory pass, and feel

Sweet music move us not as once, or worst,

To see decaying wits ere the frail body

Decays. Nought makes me trust in love so really,

As the delight of the contented lowness

With which I gaze on souls I’d keep for ever

In beauty — I’d be sad to equal them;

I’d feed their fame e’en from my heart’s best blood,

Withering unseen, that they might flourish still.

. . . . .

Pauline, my sweet friend, thou dost not forget

How this mood swayed me, when thou first wert mine,

When I had set myself to live this life,

Defying all opinion. Ere thou camest

I was most happy, sweet, for old delights

Had come like birds again; music, my life,

I nourished more than ever, and old lore

Loved for itself, and all it shows — the king

Treading the purple calmly to his death,

— While round him, like the clouds of eve, all dusk,

The giant shades of fate, silently flitting,

Pile the dim outline of the coming doom,

— And him sitting alone in blood, while friends

Are hunting far in the sunshine; and the boy,

With his white breast and brow and clustering curls

Streaked with his mother’s blood, and striving hard

To tell his story ere his reason goes,

And when I loved thee, as I’ve loved so oft,

Thou lovedst me, and I wondered, and looked in

My heart to find some feeling like such love,

Believing I was still what I had been;

And soon I found all faith had gone from me,

And the late glow of life — changing like clouds,

’Twas not the morn-blush widening into day,

But evening, coloured by the dying sun

While darkness is quick hastening: — I will tell

Sly state as though ‘twere none of mine — despair

Cannot come near me — thus it is with me.

Souls alter not, and mine must progress still;

And this I knew not when I flung away

My youth’s chief aims. I ne’er supposed the

Of what few I retained; for no resource

Awaits me — now behold the change of all.

I cannot chain my soul, it will not rest

In its clay prison; this most narrow sphere —

It has strange powers, and feelings, and desires,

Which I cannot account for, nor explain,

But which I stifle not, being bound to trust

All feelings equally — to hear all sides:

Yet I cannot indulge them, and they live,