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

“Aright: give ear, endeavour to descry

“The groves of giant rushes, how they grew

“Like demons’ endlong tresses we sailed through,

“What mountains yawned, forests to give us vent

“Opened, each doleful side, yet on we went

“Till … may that beetle (shake your cap) attest

“The springing of a land-wind from the West!”

— Wherefore? Ah yes, you frolic it to-day!

Tomorrow, and, the pageant moved away

Down to the poorest tent-pole, we and you

Part company: no other may pursue

Eastward your voyage, be informed what fate

Intends, if triumph or decline await

The tempter of the everlasting steppe.

I muse this on a ruined palace-step

At Venice: why should I break off, nor sit

Longer upon my step, exhaust the fit

England gave birth to? Who ‘s adorable

Enough reclaim a — - no Sordello’s Will

Alack! — be queen to me? That Bassanese

Busied among her smoking fruit-boats? These

Perhaps from our delicious Asolo

Who twinkle, pigeons o’er the portico

Not prettier, bind June lilies into sheaves

To deck the bridge-side chapel, dropping leaves

Soiled by their own loose gold-meal? Ah, beneath

The cool arch stoops she, brownest cheek! Her wreath

Endures a month — a half-month — if I make

A queen of her, continue for her sake

Sordello’s story? Nay, that Paduan girl

Splashes with barer legs where a live whirl

In the dead black Giudecca proves seaweed

Drifting has sucked down three, four, all indeed

Save one pale-red striped, pale-blue turbaned post

For gondolas.

You sad dishevelled ghost

That pluck at me and point, are you advised

I breathe? Let stay those girls (e’en her disguised

— Jewels i’ the locks that love no crownet like

Their native field-buds and the green wheat-spike,

So fair! — who left this end of June’s turmoil,

Shook off, as might a lily its gold soil,

Pomp, save a foolish gem or two, and free

In dream, came join the peasants o’er the sea.)

Look they too happy, too tricked out? Confess

There is such niggard stock of happiness

To share, that, do one’s uttermost, dear wretch,

One labours ineffectually to stretch

It o’er you so that mother and children, both

May equitably flaunt the sumpter-cloth!

Divide the robe yet farther: be content

With seeing just a score preeminent

Through shreds of it, acknowledged happy wights,

Engrossing what should furnish all, by rights!

For, these in evidence, you clearlier claim

A like garb for the rest, — grace all, the same

As these my peasants. I ask youth and strength

And health for each of you, not more — at length

Grown wise, who asked at home that the whole race

Might add the spirit’s to the body’s grace,

And all be dizened out as chiefs and bards.

But in this magic weather one discards

Much old requirement. Venice seems a type

Of Life — ’twixt blue and blue extends, a stripe,

As Life, the somewhat, hangs ‘twixt nought and nought:

‘T is Venice, and ‘t is Life — as good you sought

To spare me the Piazza’s slippery stone

Or keep me to the unchoked canals alone,

As hinder Life the evil with the good

Which make up Living, rightly understood.

Only, do finish something! Peasants, queens,

Take them, made happy by whatever means,

Parade them for the common credit, vouch

That a luckless residue, we send to crouch

In corners out of sight, was just as framed

For happiness, its portion might have claimed

As well, and so, obtaining joy, had stalked

Fastuous as any! — such my project, baulked

Already; I hardly venture to adjust

The first rags, when you find me. To mistrust

Me! — nor unreasonably. You, no doubt,

Have the true knack of tiring suitors out

With those thin lips on tremble, lashless eyes

Inveterately tear-shot: there, be wise,

Mistress of mine, there, there, as if I meant

You insult! — shall your friend (not slave) be shent

For speaking home? Beside, care-bit erased

Broken-up beauties ever took my taste

Supremely; and I love you more, far more

Than her I looked should foot Life’s temple-floor.

Years ago, leagues at distance, when and where

A whisper came, “Let others seek! — thy care

“Is found, thy life’s provision; if thy race

“Should be thy mistress, and into one face

“The many faces crowd?” Ah, had I, judge,

Or no, your secret? Rough apparel — grudge

All ornaments save tag or tassel worn

To hint we are not thoroughly forlorn —

Slouch bonnet, unloop mantle, careless go

Alone (that’s saddest, but it must be so)

Through Venice, sing now and now glance aside,

Aught desultory or undignified, —

Then, ravishingest lady, will you pass

Or not each formidable group, the mass

Before the Basilic (that feast gone by,

God’s great day of the Corpus Domini)

And, wistfully foregoing proper men,

Come timid up to me for alms? And then

The luxury to hesitate, feign do

Some unexampled grace! — when, whom but you

Dare I bestow your own upon? And hear

Further before you say, it is to sneer

I call you ravishing; for I regret

Little that she, whose early foot was set

Forth as she ‘d plant it on a pedestal,

Now, i’ the silent city, seems to fall

Toward me — no wreath, only a lip’s unrest

To quiet, surcharged eyelids to be pressed

Dry of their tears upon my bosom. Strange

Such sad chance should produce in thee such change,

My love! Warped souls and bodies! yet God spoke

Of right-hand, foot and eye — selects our yoke,

Sordello, as your poetship may find!

So, sleep upon my shoulder, child, nor mind

Their foolish talk; we ‘ll manage reinstate

Your old worth; ask moreover, when they prate

Of evil men past hope, “Don’t each contrive,

“Despite the evil you abuse, to live? —

“Keeping, each losel, through a maze of lies,

“His own conceit of truth? to which he hies

“By obscure windings, tortuous, if you will,

“But to himself not inaccessible;

“He sees truth, and his lies are for the crowd

“Who cannot see; some fancied right allowed

“His vilest wrong, empowered the losel clutch

“One pleasure from a multitude of such

“Denied him.” Then assert, “All men appear

“To think all better than themselves, by here

“Trusting a crowd they wrong; but really,” say,

“All men think all men stupider than they,

“Since, save themselves, no other comprehends

“The complicated scheme to make amends

“ — Evil, the scheme by which, thro’ Ignorance,

“Good labours to exist.” A slight advance, —

Merely to find the sickness you die through,

And nought beside! but if one can’t eschew

One’s portion in the common lot, at least

One can avoid an ignorance increased

Tenfold by dealing out hint after hint

How nought were like dispensing without stint

The water of life — so easy to dispense

Beside, when one has probed the centre whence

Commotion ‘s born — could tell you of it all!

“ — Meantime, just meditate my madrigal

“O’ the mugwort that conceals a dewdrop safe!”

What, dullard? we and you in smothery chafe,

Babes, baldheads, stumbled thus far into Zin

The Horrid, getting neither out nor in,

A hungry sun above us, sands that bung

Our throats, — each dromedary lolls a tongue,