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

About “need to strew the bleakness

“Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed.

”That the sea feels” — no “strange yearning

“That such souls have, most to lavish

”Where there’s chance of least returning.”

III.

Oh, we’re sunk enough here, God knows!

But not quite so sunk that moments,

Sure tho’ seldom, are denied us,

When the spirit’s true endowments

Stand out plainly from its false ones,

And apprise it if pursuing

Or the right way or the wrong way,

To its triumph or undoing.

IV.

There are flashes struck from midnights,

There are fire-flames noondays kindle,

Whereby piled-up honours perish,

Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle,

While just this or that poor impulse,

Which for once had play unstifled,

Seems the sole work of a lifetime

That away the rest have trifled.

V.

Doubt you if, in some such moment,

As she fixed me, she felt clearly,

Ages past the soul existed,

Here an age ’tis resting merely,

And hence fleets again for ages,

While the true end, sole and single,

It stops here for is, this love-way,

With some other soul to mingle?

VI.

Else it loses what it lived for,

And eternally must lose it;

Better ends may be in prospect,

Deeper blisses (if you choose it),

But this life’s end and this love-bliss

Have been lost here. Doubt you whether

This she felt as, looking at me,

Mine and her souls rushed together?

VII.

Oh, observe! Of course, next moment,

The world’s honours, in derision,

Trampled out the light for ever:

Never fear but there’s provision

Of the devil’s to quench knowledge

Lest we walk the earth in rapture!

— Making those who catch God’s secret

Just so much more prize their capture!

VIII.

Such am I: the secret’s mine now!

She has lost me, I have gained her;

Her soul’s mine: and thus, grown perfect,

I shall pass my life’s remainder.

Life will just hold out the proving

Both our powers, alone and blended:

And then, come next life quickly!

This world’s use will have been ended.

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THERE’S Heaven above, and night by night,

I look right through its gorgeous roof

No sun and moons though e’er so bright

Avail to stop me; splendour-proof

I keep the broods of stars aloof:

For I intend to get to God,

For ’tis to God I speed so fast,

For in God’s breast, my own abode,

Those shoals of dazzling glory past,

I lay my spirit down at last.

I lie where I have always lain,

God smiles as he has always smiled;

Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,

Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled

The Heavens, God thought on me his child;

Ordained a life for me, arrayed

Its circumstances, every one

To the minutest; ay, God said

This head this hand should rest upon

Thus, ere he fashioned star or sun.

And having thus created me,

Thus rooted me, he bade me grow,

Guiltless for ever, like a tree

That buds and blooms, nor seeks to know

The law by which it prospers so:

But sure that thought and word and deed

All go to swell his love for me,

Me, made because that love had need

Of something irrevocably

Pledged solely its content to be.

Yes, yes, a tree which must ascend, —

No poison-gourd foredoomed to stoop!

I have God’s warrant, could I blend

All hideous sins, as in a cup,

To drink the mingled venoms up,

Secure my nature will convert

The draught to blossoming gladness fast,

While sweet dews turn to the gourd’s hurt,

And bloat, and while they bloat it, blast,

As from the first its lot was cast.

For as I lie, smiled on, full fed

By unexhausted power to bless,

I gaze below on Hell’s fierce bed,

And those its waves of flame oppress,

Swarming in ghastly wretchedness;

Whose life on earth aspired to be

One altar-smoke, so pure! — to win

If not love like God’s love to me,

At least to keep his anger in,

And all their striving turned to sin!

Priest, doctor, hermit, monk grown white

With prayer, the broken-hearted nun,

The martyr, the wan acolyte,

The incense-swinging child, — undone

Before God fashioned star or sun!

God, whom I praise; how could I praise,

If such as I might understand,

Make out, and reckon on, his ways,

And bargain for his love, and, stand,

Paying a price, at his right hand?

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THE RAIN set early in tonight,

The sullen wind was soon awake,

It tore the elm-tops down for spite,

And did its worst to vex the lake,

I listened with heart fit to break;

When glided in Porphyria: straight

She shut the cold out and the storm,

And kneeled and made the cheerless grate

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;

Which done, she rose, and from her form

Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,

And laid her soiled gloves by, untied

Her hat and let the damp hair fall,

And, last, she sate down by my side

And called me. When no voice replied,

She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,

And spread o’er all her yellow hair,

Murmuring how she loved me; she

Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavour,

To set its struggling passion free

From pride, and vainer ties dissever,

And give herself to me for ever:

But passion sometimes would prevail,

Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale

For love of her, and all in vain;

So, she was come through wind and rain.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

Proud, very proud; at last I knew

Porphyria worshipped me; surprise

Made my heart swell, and still it grew

While I debated what to do.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

Perfectly pure and good: I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string I wound

Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her. No pain felt she;

I am quite sure she felt no pain.

As a shut bud that holds a bee

I warily oped her lids; again

Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

I propped her head up as before,

Only, this time my shoulder bore

Her head, which droops upon it still:

The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,

And I, its love, am gained instead!

Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how

Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now,

And all night long we have not stirred,

And yet God has not said a word!

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I.

AS I ride, as I ride,

With a full heart for my guide,

So its tide rocks my side,

As I ride, as I ride,

That, as I were double-eyed,

He, in whom our Tribes confide,

Is descried, ways untried

As I ride, as I ride.

II.

As I ride, as I ride

To our Chief and his Allied,

Who dares chide my heart’s pride