Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MARVEL OF LIFE, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MARVEL OF LIFE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: O life! How like the common-breathed air
Last Line: Mourning for wisdom, panting to be free.
Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord
Subject(s): Life


O LIFE! how like the common-breathed air,
Which is thy outward instrument, thou liest
Ever about us, with sustaining force,
In the calm current of our usual days
Unfelt, unthought of; nay, how dense a crowd
Float on upborne by the prolific stream,
Even to the ridges of the eternal sea,
Spending profuse the passion of their mind
On every flower that gleams on either bank,
On every rock that bends its rugged brow,
Conscious of all things, only not of thee.

Yet some there are, who in their greenest youth,
At some rare hours, have known the dazzling light
Intolerable, that glares upon the soul,
In the mere sense of Being, and grown faint
With awe, and striven to press their folded hands
Upon their inner eyes, and bowed their heads,
As in the presence of a mighty Ghost,
Which they must feel, but cannot dare to see.

It is before me now, that fearful truth,
That single solitary truth, which hangs
In the dark heaven of our uncertainties,
Seen by no other light than its own fire,
Self-balanced, like the Arab Magian's tomb,
Between the inner and the outer World; --
How utterly the wretched shred of Time,
Which in our blindness we call Human Life,
Is lost with all its train of circumstance,
And appanage of after and before,
In this eternal present; that we Are!
No When, -- no Where, -- no How, -- but that we Are, --
And nought besides.

Nor when our dazed sight,
Weaned from its first keen wonder, learns to fix
The surer and more reasonable gaze
Of calm concentrated philosophy
On this intense idea, have we gained
One instant's raising of the sacred veil,
One briefest glimpse into the sanctuary. --
We grasp at words, and find them meaningless,
Bind thoughts together that will not be bound,
But burst asunder at the very time
We hold them closest, -- find we are awake
The while we seem to dream, and find we dream
The while we seem to be the most awake;
And thus we are thrown on from sea to sea.

Can we take up the sparkles of choice light,
That dance upon the ruffled summer waters,
And make them up to one coherent sun?
Can we transform the charred and molten dust
Into its elemental diamond?
And, tho' thus impotent, we yet dare hope,
From this embased form, half earth, half heaven,
Of most imperfect fragmentary nature,
These scant materials of dethroned power,
This tarnished Beauty, marred Divinity,
To fabricate a comprehensive scheme
Of absolute Existence -- to lay open
The knowledge of a clear concordant Whole,
And penetrate, with foully-scaled eyes,
The total scope, and utmost distances,
Of the Creations of the Living God.

* * * *
* * * *

He was a bitter Mocker, that old Man
Who bade us "know ourselves," yet not unwise;
For though the science of our Life and Being
Be unattained and unattainable
By these weak organs, though the athlete mind,
Hardened by practice of unpausing toil,
And fed to manhood with robustest meats,
Never can train its sinews strong enough
To raise itself from off the solid ground,
To which the mandate of creating Will
Has bound it; though we all must patient stand,
Like statutes on appointed pedestals,
Yet we may choose (since choice is given) to shun
Servile contentment or ignoble fear,
In the expression of our attitude;
And with far-straining eyes, and hands upcast,
And feet half raised, declare our painful state,
Yearning for wings to reach the fields of Truth,
Mourning for wisdom, panting to be free.





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