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Home  »  The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse  »  104. From ‘Easter Day’

Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.

Robert Browning (1812–1889)

104. From ‘Easter Day’

HE stood there. Like the smoke

Pillared o’er Sodom, when day broke,—

I saw Him. One magnific pall

Mantled in massive fold and fall

His dread, and coiled in snaky swathes

About His feet: night’s black, that bathes

All else, broke, grizzled with despair,

Against the soul of blackness there.

A gesture told the mood within—

That wrapped right hand which based the chin.

That intense meditation fixed

On His procedure,—pity mixed

With the fulfilment of decree.

Motionless, thus, He spoke to me,

Who fell before His feet, a mass,

No man now.

‘All is come to pass.

Such shows are over for each soul

They had respect to. In the roll

Of Judgement which convinced mankind

Of sin, stood many, bold and blind,

Terror must burn the truth into:

Their fate for them!—thou hadst to do

With absolute omnipotence,

Able its judgements to dispense

To the whole race, as every one

Were its sole object. Judgement done,

God is, thou art,—the rest is hurled

To nothingness for thee. This world,

This finite life, thou hast preferred,

In disbelief of God’s own word,

To Heaven and to Infinity.

Here the probation was for thee,

To show thy soul the earthly mixed

With heavenly, it must choose betwixt.

The earthly joys lay palpable,—

A taint, in each, distinct as well;

The heavenly flitted, faint and rare,

Above them, but as truly were

Taintless, so, in their nature, best.

Thy choice was earth: thou didst attest

’Twas fitter spirit should subserve

The flesh, than flesh refine to nerve

Beneath the spirt’s play. Advance

No claim to their inheritance

Who chose the spirit’s fugitive

Brief gleams, and yearned, “This were to live

Indeed, if rays, completely pure

From flesh that dulls them, could endure,—

Not shoot in meteor-light athwart

Our earth, to show how cold and swart

It lies beneath their fire, but stand

As stars do, destined to expand,

Prove veritable worlds, our home.”

Thou saidst,—“Let spirit star the dome

Of sky, that flesh may miss no peak,

No nook of earth,—I shall not seek

Its service further!” Thou art shut

Out of the heaven of spirit; glut

Thy sense upon the world: ’tis thine

For ever—take it!’

‘How? Is mine,

The world?’ (I cried, while my soul broke

Out in a transport.) ‘Hast Thou spoke

Plainly in that? Earth’s exquisite

Treasures of wonder and delight,

For me?’

The austere voice returned,—

‘So soon made happy? Hadst thou learned

What God accounteth happiness,

Thou wouldst not find it hard to guess

What hell may be His punishment

For those who doubt if God invent

Better than they. Let such men rest

Content with what they judged the best.

Let the unjust usurp at will:

The filthy shall be filthy still:

Miser, there waits the gold for thee!

Hater, indulge thine enmity!

And thou, whose heaven self-ordained

Was, to enjoy earth unrestrained,

Do it! Take all the ancient show!

The woods shall wave, the rivers flow,

And men apparently pursue

Their works, as they were wont to do,

While living in probation yet.

I promise not thou shalt forget

The Past, now gone to its account;

But leave thee with the old amount;

Of faculties, nor less nor more,

Unvisited, as heretofore,

By God’s free spirit, that makes an end.

So, once more, take thy world! expend

Eternity upon its shows,—

Flung thee as freely as one rose

Out of a summer’s opulence,

Over the Eden-barrier whence

Thou art excluded. Knock in vain!’

I sat up. All was still again.

I breathed free: to my heart, back fled

The warmth. ‘But, all the world!’—I said.

I stooped and picked a leaf of fern,

And recollected I might learn

From books, how many myriad sorts

Of fern exist, to trust reports,

Each as distinct and beautiful

As this, the very first I cull.

Think, from the first leaf to the last!

Conceive, then, earth’s resources! Vast

Exhaustless beauty, endless change

Of wonder! And this foot shall range

Alps, Andes,—and this eye devour

The bee-bird and the aloe-flower?

Then the Voice, ‘Welcome so to rate

The arras-folds that variegate

The earth, God’s antechamber, well!

The wise, who waited there, could tell

By these, what royalties in store

Lay one step past the entrance-door.

For whom, was reckoned, not too much,

This life’s munificence? For such

As thou,—a race, whereof scarce one

Was able, in a million,

To feel that any marvel lay

In objects round his feet all day;

Scarce one, in many millions more,

Willing, if able, to explore

The secreter, minuter charm!

—Brave souls, a fern-leaf could disarm

Of power to cope with God’s intent,—

Or scared if the south firmament

With north-fire did its wings refledge!

All partial beauty was a pledge

Of beauty in its plenitude:

But since the pledge sufficed thy mood,

Retain it! plenitude be theirs

Who looked above!’

Though sharp despairs

Shot through me, I held up, bore on.

‘What matter though my trust were gone

From natural things? Henceforth my part

Be less with Nature than with Art!

For Art supplants, gives mainly worth

To Nature; ’tis Man stamps the earth—

And I will seek his impress, seek

The statuary of the Greek,

Italy’s painting—there my choice

Shall fix!’

‘Obtain it!’ said the voice,

—‘The one form with its single act,

Which sculptors laboured to abstract,

The one face, painters tried to draw,

With its one look, from throngs they saw…

…‘But through

Life pierce,—and what has earth to do,

Its utmost beauty’s appanage,

With the requirement of next stage?

Did God pronounce earth “very good”?

Needs must it be, while understood

For man’s preparatory state;

Nothing to heighten nor abate:

Transfer the same completeness here,

To serve a new state’s use—and drear

Deficiency gapes every side!

The good, tried once, were had, retried.

See the enwrapping rocky niche,

Sufficient for the sleep, in which

The lizard breathes for ages safe:

Split the mould—and as this would chafe

The creature’s new world-widened sense,

One minute after day dispense

The thousand sounds and sights that broke

In on him at the chisel’s stroke,—

So, in God’s eye, the earth’s first stuff

Was, neither more nor less, enough

To house man’s soul, man’s need fulfil.

Man reckoned it immeasurable?

So thinks the lizard of his vault!

Could God be taken in default,

Short of contrivances, by you—

Or reached, ere ready to pursue

His progress through eternity?

That chambered rock, the lizard’s world,

Your easy mallet’s blow has hurled

To nothingness for ever; so,

Has God abolished at a blow

This world, wherein His saints were pent—

Who, though found grateful and content,

With the provision there, as thou,

Yet knew He would not disallow

Their spirit’s hunger, felt as well,—

Unsated,—not unsatable,

As Paradise gives proof. Deride

Their choice now, thou who sit’st outside!

I cried in anguish, ‘Mind, the mind,

So miserably cast behind,

To gain what had been wisely lost!

Oh, let me strive to make the most

Of the poor stinted soul, I nipped

Of budding wings, else now equipt

For voyage from summer isle to isle!

And though she needs must reconcile

Ambition to the life on ground,

Still, I can profit by late found

But precious knowledge. Mind is best—

I will seize mind, forgo the rest,

And try how far my tethered strength

May crawl in this poor breadth and length.

Let me, since I can fly no more,

At least spin dervish-like about

(Till giddy rapture almost doubt

I fly) through circling sciences,

Philosophies and histories!

Should the whirl slacken there, then verse,

Fining to music, shall asperse

Fresh and fresh fire-dew, till I strain

Intoxicate, half-break my chain!

Not joyless, though more favoured feet

Stand calm, where I want wings to beat

The floor. At least earth’s bond is broke!’

Then (sickening even while I spoke),

‘Let me alone! No answer, pray,

To this! I know what Thou wilt say!

All still is earth’s—to know, as much

As feel its truths, which if we touch

With sense, or apprehend in soul,

What matter? I have reached the goal—

“Whereto does Knowledge serve!” will burn

My eyes, too sure, at every turn!

I cannot look back now, nor stake

Bliss on the race, for running’s sake.

The goal’s a ruin like the rest!’

—‘And so much worse thy latter quest,’

(Added the voice) ‘that even on earth—

Whenever, in man’s soul, had birth

Those intuitions, grasps of guess,

That pull the more into the less,

Making the finite comprehend

Infinity,—the bard would spend

Such praise alone, upon his craft,

As, when wind-lyres obey the waft,

Goes to the craftsman who arranged

The seven strings, changed them and rechanged—

Knowing it was the South that harped.

He felt his song, in singing, warped;

Distinguished his and God’s part: whence

A world of spirit as of sense

Was plain to him, yet not too plain,

Which he could traverse, not remain

A guest in:—else were permanent

Heaven on earth which its gleams were meant

To sting with hunger for full light—

Made visible in verse, despite

The veiling weakness,—truth by means

Of fable, showing while it screens,—

Since highest truth, man e’er supplied,

Was ever fable on outside.

Such gleams made bright the earth an age;

Now, the whole sun’s his heritage!

Take up thy world, it is allowed,

Thou who hast entered in the cloud!’

Then I—‘Behold, my spirit bleeds,

Catches no more at broken reeds,—

But lilies flower those reeds above:

I let the world go, and take love!

Love survives in me, albeit those

I love be henceforth masks and shows,

Not loving men and women: still

I mind how love repaired all ill,

Cured wrong, soothed grief, made earth amends

With parents, brothers, children, friends!

Some semblance of a woman yet

With eyes to help me to forget,

Shall live with me; and I will match

Departed love with love, attach

Its fragments to my whole, nor scorn

The poorest of the grains of corn

I save from shipwreck on this isle,

Trusting its barrenness may smile

With happy foodful green one day,

More precious for the pains. I pray,

For love, then, only!’

At the word,

The form, I looked to have been stirred

With pity and approval, rose

O’er me, as when the headsman throws

Axe over shoulder to make end—

I fell prone, letting Him expend

His wrath, while, thus, the inflicting voice

Smote me. ‘Is this thy final choice?

Love is the best? ’Tis somewhat late!

And all thou dost enumerate

Of power and beauty in the world,

The mightiness of love was curled

Inextricably round about.

Love lay within it and without,

To clasp thee—but in vain! Thy soul

Still shrunk from Him who made the whole,

Still set deliberate aside

His love!—Now take love! Well betide

Thy tardy conscience! Haste to take

The show of love for the name’s sake,

Remembering every moment Who,

Beside creating thee unto

These ends, and these for thee, was said

To undergo death in thy stead

In flesh like thine: so ran the tale.

What doubt in thee could countervail

Belief in it? Upon the ground

“That in the story had been found

Too much love! How could God love so?’

He who in all His works below

Adapted to the needs of man,

Made love the basis of the plan,—

Did love, as was demonstrated:

While man, who was so fit instead

To hate, as every day gave proof—

Man thought man, for his kind’s behoof,

Both could and did invent that scheme

Of perfect love—’twould well beseem

Cain’s nature thou wast wont to praise,

Not tally with God’s usual ways!’

And I cowered deprecatingly—

‘Thou Love of God! Or let me die,

Or grant what shall seem Heaven almost!

Let me not know that all is lost,

Though lost it be—leave me not tied

To this despair, this corpse-like bride!

Let that old life seem mine—no more—

With limitation as before,

With darkness, hunger, toil, distress:

Be all the earth a wilderness!

Only let me go on, go on,

Still hoping ever and anon

To reach one eve the Better Land!’

Then did the form expand, expand—

I knew Him through the dread disguise,

As the whole God within his eyes

Embraced me.