The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition. Robert Browning
“And spread in a thinnest scale afloat
“One thick gold drop from the olive’s coat
“Over a silver plate whose sheen
“Still thro’ the mixture shall be seen.
“For so I prove thee, to one and all,
“Fit, when my people ope their breast,
“To see the sign, and hear the call,
“And take the vow, and stand the test
“Which adds one more child to the rest —
“When the breast is bare and the arms are wide,
“And the world is left outside.
“For there is probation to decree,
“And many and long must the trials be
“Thou shalt victoriously endure,
“If that brow is true and those eyes are sure;
“Like a jewel-finder’s fierce assay
“Of the prize he dug from its mountain-tomb —
“Let once the vindicating ray
“Leap out amid the anxious gloom,
“And steel and fire have done their part
“And the prize falls on its finder’s heart;
‘‘So, trial after trial past,
“Wilt thou fall at the very last
“Breathless, half in trance
“With the thrill of the great deliverance,
“Into our arms for evermore;
“And thou shalt know, those arms once curled
“About thee, what we knew before,
“How love is the only good in the world.
“Henceforth be loved as heart can love,
“Or brain devise, or hand approve!
“Stand up, look below,
“It is our life at thy feet we throw
“To step with into light and joy;
“Not a power of life but we employ
“To satisfy thy nature’s want;
“Art thou the tree that props the plant,
“Or the climbing plant that seeks the tree —
“Canst thou help us, must we help thee?
“If any two creatures grew into one,
“They would do more than the world has done.
“Though each apart were never so weak,
“Ye vainly through the world should seek
“For the knowledge and the might
“Which in such union grew their right:
“So, to approach at least that end,
“And blend, — as much as may be, blend
“Thee with us or us with thee,
“As climbing plant or propping tree,
“Shall some one deck thee, over and down,
“Up and about, with blossoms and leaves?
“Fix his heart’s fruit for thy garland crown,
“Cling with his soul as the gourd-vine cleaves,
“Die on thy boughs and disappear
“While not a leaf of thine is sere?
“Or is the other fate in store,
“And art thou fitted to adore,
“To give thy wondrous self away,
“And take a stronger nature’s sway?
“I foresee and could foretell
“Thy future portion, sure and well —
“But those passionate eyes speak true, speak true,
“Let them say what thou shalt do!
“Only be sure thy daily life,
“In its peace or in its strife,
“Never shall be unobserved:
“We pursue thy whole career,
“And hope for it, or doubt, or fear, —
“Lo, hast thou kept thy path or swerved,
“We are beside thee in all thy ways,
“With our blame, with our praise,
“Our shame to feel, our pride to show,
“Glad, angry — but indifferent, no!
“Whether it be thy lot to go,
“For the good of us all, where the haters meet
“In the crowded city’s horrible street;
“Or thou step alone through the morass
“Where never sound yet was
“Save the dry quick clap of the stork’s bill,
“For the air is still, and the water still,
“When the blue breast of the dipping coot
“Dives under, and all is mute.
“So, at the last shall come old age,
“Decrepit as befits that stage;
“How else wouldst thou retire apart
“With the hoarded memories of thy heart,
“And gather all to the very least
“Of the fragments of life’s earlier feast,
“Let fall through eagerness to find
“The crowning dainties yet behind?
“Ponder on the entire past
“Laid together thus at last,
“When the twilight helps to fuse
“The first fresh with the faded hues,
“And the outline of the whole,
“As round eve’s shades their framework roll,
“Grandly fronts for once thy soul.
“And then as, ‘mid the dark, a glean
“Of yet another morning breaks,
“And like the hand which ends a dream,
“Death, with the might of his sunbeam,
“Touches the flesh and the soul awakes,
“Then — ”
Ay, then indeed something would happen!
But what? For here her voice changed like a bird’s;
There grew more of the music and less of the words;
Had Jacynth only been by me to clap pen
To paper and put you down every syllable
With those clever clerkly fingers,
All I’ve forgotten as well as what lingers
In this old brain of mine that’s but ill able
To give you even this poor version
Of the speech I spoil, as it were, with stammering
— More fault of those who had the hammering
Of prosody into me and syntax,
And did it, not with hobnails but tintacks!
But to return from this excursion, —
Just, do you mark, when the song was sweetest,