The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Volume 1. Browning Elizabeth Barrett

      Mortal man and woman,

      Go upon your travel!

      Heaven assist the human

      Smoothly to unravel

      All that web of pain

      Wherein ye are holden.

      Do ye know our voices

      Chanting down the Golden?

      Do ye guess our choice is,

      Being unbeholden,

      To be hearkened by you yet again?

      This pure door of opal

      God hath shut between us, —

      Us, his shining people,

      You, who once have seen us

      And are blinded new!

      Yet, across the doorway,

      Past the silence reaching,

      Farewells evermore may,

      Blessing in the teaching,

      Glide from us to you.

      First Semichorus.

      Think how erst your Eden,

      Day on day succeeding,

      With our presence glowed.

      We came as if the Heavens were bowed

      To a milder music rare.

      Ye saw us in our solemn treading,

      Treading down the steps of cloud,

      While our wings, outspreading

      Double calms of whiteness,

      Dropped superfluous brightness

      Down from stair to stair.

      Second Semichorus.

      Or oft, abrupt though tender,

      While ye gazed on space,

      We flashed our angel-splendour

      In either human face.

      With mystic lilies in our hands,

      From the atmospheric bands

      Breaking with a sudden grace,

      We took you unaware!

      While our feet struck glories

      Outward, smooth and fair,

      Which we stood on floorwise,

      Platformed in mid-air.

      First Semichorus.

      Or oft, when Heaven-descended,

      Stood we in our wondering sight

      In a mute apocalypse

      With dumb vibrations on our lips

      From hosannas ended,

      And grand half-vanishings

      Of the empyreal things

      Within our eyes belated,

      Till the heavenly Infinite

      Falling off from the Created,

      Left our inward contemplation

      Opened into ministration.

      Chorus.

      Then upon our axle turning

      Of great joy to sympathy,

      We sang out the morning

      Broadening up the sky,

      Or we drew

      Our music through

      The noontide's hush and heat and shine,

      Informed with our intense Divine:

      Interrupted vital notes

      Palpitating hither, thither,

      Burning out into the æther,

      Sensible like fiery motes.

      Or, whenever twilight drifted

      Through the cedar masses,

      The globèd sun we lifted,

      Trailing purple, trailing gold

      Out between the passes

      Of the mountains manifold,

      To anthems slowly sung:

      While he, – aweary, half in swoon

      For joy to hear our climbing tune

      Transpierce the stars' concentric rings, —

      The burden of his glory flung

      In broken lights upon our wings.

      Lucifer. Now may all fruits be pleasant to thy lips,

      Beautiful Eve! The times have somewhat changed

      Since thou and I had talk beneath a tree,

      Albeit ye are not gods yet.

      Eve. Adam! hold

      My right hand strongly! It is Lucifer —

      And we have love to lose.

      Adam. I' the name of God,

      Go apart from us, O thou Lucifer!

      And leave us to the desert thou hast made

      Out of thy treason. Bring no serpent-slime

      Athwart this path kept holy to our tears!

      Or we may curse thee with their bitterness.

      Lucifer. Curse freely! curses thicken. Why, this Eve

      Who thought me once part worthy of her ear

      And somewhat wiser than the other beasts, —

      Drawing together her large globes of eyes,

      The light of which is throbbing in and out

      Their steadfast continuity of gaze, —

      Knots her fair eyebrows in so hard a knot,

      And down from her white heights of womanhood

      Looks on me so amazed, – I scarce should fear

      To wager such an apple as she plucked

      Against one riper from the tree of life,

      That she could curse too – as a woman may —

      Smooth in the vowels.

      Eve. So – speak wickedly!

      I like it best so. Let thy words be wounds, —

      For, so, I shall not fear thy power to hurt.

      Trench on the forms of good by open ill —

      For, so, I shall wax strong and grand with scorn,

      Scorning myself for ever trusting thee

      As far as thinking, ere a snake ate dust,

      He could speak wisdom.

      Lucifer. Our new gods, it seems,

      Deal more in thunders than in courtesies.

      And, sooth, mine own Olympus, which anon

      I shall build up to loud-voiced imagery

      From all the wandering visions of the world,

      May show worse railing than our lady Eve

      Pours