The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition. Robert Browning
soul to seek its old delights,
Could e’er have brought me thus far back to peace.
As peace returned, I sought out some pursuit:
And song rose — no new impulse — but the one
With which all others best could be combined.
My life has not been that of those whose heaven
Was lampless, save where poesy shone out;
But as a clime, where glittering mountain-tops,
And glancing sea, and forests steeped in light,
Give back reflected the far-flashing sun;
For music, (which is earnest of a heaven,
Seeing we know emotions strange by it,
Not else to be revealed) is as a voice,
A low voice calling Fancy, as a friend,
To the green woods in the gay summer time.
And she fills all the way with dancing shapes,
Which have made painters pale; and they go on
While stars look at them, and winds call to them,
As they leave life’s path for the twilight world,
Where the dead gather. This was not at first,
For I scarce knew what I would do. I had
No wish to paint, no yearning — but I sang.
And first I sang, as I in dream have seen,
Music wait on a lyrist for some thought,
Yet singing to herself until it came.
I turned to those old times and scenes, where all
That’s beautiful had birth for me, and made
Rude verses on them all; and then I paused —
I had done nothing, so I sought to know
What mind had yet achieved. No fear was mine
As I gazed on the works of mighty bards,
In the first joy at finding my own thoughts
Recorded, and my powers exemplified,
And feeling their aspirings were my own.
And then I first explored passion and mind;
And I began afresh; I rather sought
To rival what I wondered at, than form
Creations of my own; so much was light
Lent back by others, yet much was my own
I paused again — a change was coming on,
I was no more a boy — the past was breaking
Before the coming, and like fever worked.
I first thought on myself — and here my powers
Burst out. I dreamed not of restraint, but gazed
On all things: schemes and systems went and came,
And I was proud (being vainest of the weak),
In wandering o’er them, to seek out some one
To be my own; as one should wander o’er
The white way for a star.
. . . . .
On one, whom praise of mine would not offend,
Who was as calm as beauty — being such
Unto mankind as thou to me, Pauline,
Believing in them, and devoting all
His soul’s strength to their winning back to peace;
Who sent forth hopes and longings for their sake,
Clothed in all passion’s melodies, which first
Caught me, and set me, as to a sweet task,
To gather every breathing of his songs,
And woven with them there were words, which seemed
A key to a new world; the muttering
Of angels, of something unguessed by man.
How my heart beat, as I went on, and found
Much there! I felt my own mind had conceived,
But there living and burning; soon the whole
Of his conceptions dawned on me; their praise
Is in the tongues of men; men’s brows are high
When his name means a triumph and a pride;
So my weak hands may well forbear to dim
What then seemed my bright fate: I threw myself
To meet it. I was vowed to liberty,
Men were to be as gods, and earth as heaven.
And I — ah! what a life was mine to be,
My whole soul rose to meet it. Now, Pauline,
I shall go mad if I recall that time.
. . . . .
O let me look back, e’er I leave for ever
The time, which was an hour, that one waits
For a fair girl, that comes a withered hag.
And I was lonely — far from woods and fields,
And amid dullest sights, who should be loose
As a stag — yet I was full of joy — who lived
With Plato — and who had the key to life.
And I had dimly shaped my first attempt,
And many a thought did I build up on thought,
As the wild bee hangs cell to cell — in vain;
For I must still go on: my mind rests not.
’Twas in my plan to look on real life,
Which was all new to me; my theories
Were firm, so I left them, to look upon
Men, and their cares, and hopes, and fears, and joys;
And, as I pondered on them all, I sought
How best life’s end might be attained — an end
Comprising every joy. I deeply mused.
And suddenly, without heart-wreck, I awoke
As from a dream — I said, ’twas beautiful,
Yet but a dream; and so adieu to it.
As some world-wanderer sees in a far meadow
Strange towers, and walled gardens, thick with trees,
Where singing goes on, and delicious mirth,
And laughing fairy creatures peeping over,
And on the morrow, when he comes to live
For ever by those springs, and trees, fruit-flushed
And fairy bowers — all his search is vain.
Well I remember …
First went my hopes of perfecting mankind,
And faith in them — then freedom in itself,
And virtue in itself — and then my motives’ ends,
And powers and loves; and human love went last.
I felt this no decay, because new powers
Rose as old feelings left — wit, mockery,
And happiness; for I had oft been sad.
Mistrusting my resolves: but now I cast
Hope joyously away — I laughed and said,
“No more of this” — I must not think; at length
I look’d