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

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


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finished. Say, men feed

       On songs I sing, and therefore bask the bees

       On my flower’s breast as on a platform broad:

       But, as the flower’s concern is not for these

       But solely for the sun, so men applaud

       In vain this Rudel, he not looking here

       But to the East — that East! Go, say this, Pilgrim dear!

      Cristina

       Table of Contents

      I.

      SHE should never have looked at me

       If she meant I should not love her!

       There are plenty … men, you call such,

       I suppose … she may discover

       All her soul to, if she pleases,

       And yet leave much as she found them:

       But I’m not so, and she knew it

       When she fixed me, glancing round them,

      II.

      What? To fix me thus meant nothing?

       But I can’t tell … there’s my weakness …

       What her look said! — no vile cant, sure,

       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.

      Johannes Agricola in Meditation I. — Madhouse Cell

       Table of Contents

      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


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