Fear death? PROSPICE to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote The power of the night, the press of the storm, Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, For the journey is done and the summit attain'd, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gain'd, I was ever a fighter, so The best and the last! one fight more, I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, MY LAST DUCHESS FERRARA That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, A heart how shall I say? too soon made glad, Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Or blush, at least. She thanked men,— good! but thanked as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name will Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! -Robert Browning FROM RABBI BEN EZRA Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in His hand Who saith, "A whole I plann'd, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid." Not that, amassing flowers, Youth sigh'd, "Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall?" Not that, admiring stars, It yearn'd, "Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!" Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finish'd and finite clods, untroubled by a spark Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but form'd to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-cramm'd beast? Rejoice we are allied To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! For thence, a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, — Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not s'nk i' the scale. What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? SONG - Robert Browning FROM Osorio Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, In a chapel on the shore, Shall the chaunters sad and saintly, Miserere Domine! |