Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EASTER DAY, by ROBERT BROWNING Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: How very hard it is to be / a christian! Hard for me and you Last Line: Is infinite, -- and who can say? Subject(s): Easter; Holidays; The Resurrection | ||||||||
I How very hard it is to be A Christian! Hard for you and me, -- Not the mere task of making real That duty up to its ideal, Effecting thus, complete and whole, A purpose of the human soul -- For that is always hard to do; But hard, I mean, for me and you To realize it, more or less, With even the moderate success Which commonly repays our strife To carry out the aims of life. "This aim is greater," you will say, "And so more arduous every way." -- But the importance of their fruits Still proves to man, in all pursuits, Proportional encouragement. "Then, what if it be God's intent That labor to this one result Should seem unduly difficult?" Ah, that's a question in the dark -- And the sole thing that I remark Upon the difficulty, this: We do not see it where it is, At the beginning of the race: As we proceed, it shifts its place, And where we looked for crowns to fall, We find the tug's to come, -- that's all. II At first you say, "The whole, or chief Of difficulties, is belief. Could I believe once thoroughly, The rest were simple. What? Am I An idiot, do you think, -- a beast? Prove to me, only that the least Command of God is God's indeed, And what injunction shall I need To pay obedience? Death so nigh, When time must end, eternity Begin, -- and cannot I compute, Weigh loss and gain together, suit My actions to the balance drawn, And give my body to be sawn Asunder, hacked in pieces, tied To horses, stoned, burned, crucified, Like any martyr of the list? How gladly! -- if I make acquist, Through the brief minute's fierce annoy, Of God's eternity of joy." III -- And certainly you name the point Whereon all turns: for could you joint This flexile finite life once tight Into the fixed and infinite, You, safe inside, would spurn what's out, With carelessness enough, no doubt -- Would spurn mere life: but when time brings To their next stage your reasonings, Your eyes, late wide, begin to wink Nor see the path so well, I think. IV You say, "Faith may be, one agrees, A touchstone for God's purposes, Even as ourselves conceive of them. Could he acquit us or condemn For holding what no hand can loose, Rejecting when we can't but choose? As well award the victor's wreath To whosoever should take breath Duly each minute while he lived -- Grant heaven, because a man contrived To see its sunlight every day He walked forth on the public way. You must mix some uncertainty With faith, if you would have faith be Why, what but faith, do we abhor And idolize each other for -- Faith in our evil or our good, Which is or is not understood Aright by those we love or those We hate, thence called our friends or foes? Your mistress saw your spirit's grace, When, turning from the ugly face, I found belief in it too hard; And she and I have our reward. -- Yet here a doubt peeps: well for us Weak beings, to go using thus A touchstone for our little ends, Trying with faith the foes and friends; -- But God, bethink you! I would fain Conceive of the Creator's reign As based upon exacter laws Than creatures build by with applause. In all God's acts -- (as Plato cries He doth) -- he should geometrize. Whence, I desiderate" ... V I see! You would grow as a natural tree, Stand as a rock, soar up like fire. The world's so perfect and entire, Quite above faith, so right and fit! Go there, walk up and down in it! No. The creation travails, groans -- Contrive your music from its moans, Without or let or hindrance, friend! That's an old story, and its end As old -- you come back (be sincere) With every question you put here (Here where there once was, and is still, We think, a living oracle, Whose answers you stand carping at) This time flung back unanswered flat, -- Beside, perhaps, as many more As those that drove you out before, Now added, where was little need. Questions impossible, indeed, To us who sat still, all and each Persuaded that our earth had speech, Of God's writ down, no matter if In cursive type or hieroglyph, -- Which one fact freed us from the yoke Of guessing why He never spoke. You come back in no better plight Than when you left us, -- am I right? VI So, the old process, I conclude, Goes on, the reasoning's pursued Further. You own, "'T is well averred, A scientific faith's absurd, -- Frustrates the very end't was meant To serve. So, I would rest content With a mere probability, But, probable; the chance must lie Clear on one side, -- lie all in rough, So long as there be just enough To pin my faith to, though it hap Only at points: from gap to gap One hangs up a huge curtain so, Grandly, nor seeks to have it go Foldless and flat along the wall. What care I if some interval Of life less plainly may depend On God? I'd hang there to the end; And thus I should not find it hard To be a Christian and debarred From trailing on the earth, till furled Away by death. -- Renounce the world! Were that a mighty hardship? Plan A pleasant life, and straight some man Beside you, with, if he thought fit, Abundant means to compass it, Shall turn deliberate aside To try and live as, if you tried You clearly might, yet most despise. One friend of mine wears out his eyes, Slighting the stupid joys of sense, In patient hope that, ten years hence, 'Somewhat completer,' he may say, 'My list of coleoptera!' While just the other who most laughs At him, above all epitaphs Aspires to have his tomb describe Himself as sole among the tribe Of snuffbox-fanciers, who possessed A Grignon with the Regent's crest. So that, subduing, as you want, Whatever stands predominant Among my earthly appetites For tastes and smells and sounds and sights, I shall be doing that alone, To gain a palm-branch and a throne, Which fifty people undertake To do, and gladly, for the sake Of giving a Semitic guess, Or playing pawns at blindfold chess." VII Good: and the next thing is, -- look round For evidence enough! 'T is found, No doubt: as is your sort of mind, So is your sort of search: you'll find What you desire, and that's to be A Christian. What says history? How comforting a point it were To find some mummy-scrap declare There lived a Moses! Better still, Prove Jonah's whale translatable Into some quicksand of the seas, Isle, cavern, rock, or what you please, That faith might flap her wings and crow From such an eminence! Or, no -- The human heart's best; you prefer Making that prove the minister To truth; you probe its wants and needs, And hopes and fears, then try what creeds Meet these most aptly, -- resolute That faith plucks such substantial fruit Wherever these two correspond, She little needs to look beyond And puzzle out who Orpheus was, Or Dionysius Zagrias. You'll find sufficient, as I say, To satisfy you either way; You wanted to believe; your pains Are crowned -- you do: and what remains? "Renounce the world!" -- Ah, were it done By merely cutting one by one Your limbs off, with your wise head last, How easy were it! -- how soon past, If once in the believing mood! "Such is man's usual gratitude, Such thanks to God do we return, For not exacting that we spurn A single gift of life, forego One real gain, -- only taste them so With gravity and temperance, That those mild virtues may enhance Such pleasures, rather than abstract -- Last spice of which, will be the fact Of love discerned in every gift; While, when the scene of life shall shift, And the gay heart be taught to ache, As sorrows and privations take The place of joy, -- the thing that seems Mere misery, under human schemes, Becomes, regarded by the light Of love, as very near or quite As good a gift as joy before. So plain is it that, all the more A dispensation's merciful, More pettishly we try and cull Briers, thistles, from our private plot, To mar God's ground where thorns are not!" VIII Do you say this, or I? -- Oh, you! Then, what, my friend? -- (thus I pursue Our parley) -- you indeed opine That the Eternal and Divine Did, eighteen centuries ago, In very truth ... Enough! you know The all-stupendous tale, -- that Birth, That Life, that Death! And all, the earth Shuddered at, -- all, the heavens grew black Rather than see; all, nature's rack And throe at dissolution's brink Attested, -- all took place, you think, Only to give our joys a zest, And prove our sorrows for the best? We differ, then! Were I, still pale And heartstruck at the dreadful tale, Waiting to hear God's voice declare What horror followed for my share, As implicated in the deed, Apart from other sins, -- concede That if He blacked out in a blot My brief life's pleasantness, 't were not So very disproportionate! Or there might be another fate -- I certainly could understand (If fancies were the thing in hand) How God might save, at that day's price, The impure in their impurities, Give license formal and complete To choose the fair and pick the sweet. But there be certain words, broad, plain, Uttered again and yet again, Hard to mistake or overgloss -- Announcing this world's gain for loss, And bidding us reject the same: The whole world lieth (they proclaim) In wickedness, -- come out of it! Turn a deaf ear, if you think fit, But I who thrill through every nerve At thought of what deaf ears deserve -- How do you counsel in the case? IX "I'd take, by all means, in your place, The safe side, since it so appears: Deny myself, a few brief years, The natural pleasure, leave the fruit Or cut the plant up by the root. Remember what a martyr said On the rude tablet overhead! 'I was born sickly, poor and mean, A slave: no misery could screen The holders of the pearl of price From Caesar's envy; therefore twice I fought with beasts, and three times saw My children suffer by his law; At last my own release was earned: I was some time in being burned, But at the close a Hand came through The fire above my head, and drew My soul to Christ, whom now I see. Sergius, a brother, writes for me This testimony on the wall -- For me, I have forgot it all.' You say right; this were not so hard! And since one nowise is debarred From this, why not escape some sins By such a method?" X Then begins To the old point revulsion new -- (For 't is just this I bring you to) -- If after all we should mistake, And so renounce life for the sake Of death and nothing else? You hear Each friend we jeered at, send the jeer Back to ourselves with good effect -- "There were my beetles to collect! My box -- a trifle, I confess, But here I hold it, ne'ertheless!" Poor idiots, (let us pluck up heart And answer) we, the better part Have chosen, though 't were only hope, Nor envy moles like you that grope Amid your veritable muck, More than the grasshoppers would truck For yours, their passionate life away, That spends itself in leaps all day To reach the sun, you want the eyes To see, as they the wings to rise And match the noble hearts of them! Thus the contemner we contemn, -- And, when doubt strikes us, thus we ward Its stroke off, caught upon our guard, -- Not struck enough to overturn Our faith, but shake it -- make us learn What I began with, and, I wis, End, having proved, -- how hard it is To be a Christian! XI "Proved, or not, Howe'er you wis, small thanks, I wot, You get of mine, for taking pains To make it hard to me. Who gains By that, I wonder? Here I live In trusting ease; and here you drive At causing me to lose what most Yourself would mourn for had you lost!" XII But, do you see, my friend, that thus You leave Saint Paul for AEschylus? -- Who made his Titan's arch-device The giving men blind hopes to spice The meal of life with, else devoured In bitter haste, while lo, death loured Before them at the platter's edge! If faith should be, as I allege, Quite other than a condiment To heighten flavors with, or meant (Like that brave curry of his Grace) To take at need the victuals' place? If, having dined, you would digest Besides, and turning to your rest Should find instead ... XIII Now, you shall see And judge if a mere foppery Pricks on my speaking! I resolve To utter -- yes, it shall devolve On you to hear as solemn, strange And dread a thing as in the range Of facts, -- or fancies, if God will -- E'er happened to our kind! I still Stand in the cloud and, while it wraps My face, ought not to speak perhaps; Seeing that if I carry through My purpose, if my words in you Find a live actual listener, My story, reason must aver False after all -- the happy chance! While, if each human countenance I meet in London day by day, Be what I fear, -- my warnings fray No one, and no one they convert, And no one helps me to assert How hard it is to really be A Christian, and in vacancy I pour this story! XIV I commence By trying to inform you, whence It comes that every Easter-night As now, I sit up, watch, till light, Upon those chimney-stacks and roofs, Give, through my window-pane, gray proofs That Easter-Day is breaking slow. On such a night, three years ago, It chanced that I had cause to cross The common, where the chapel was, Our friend spoke of, the other day -- You've not forgotten, I dare say. I fell to musing of the time So close, the blessed matin-prime All hearts leap up at, in some guise -- One could not well do otherwise. Insensibly my thoughts were bent Toward the main point; I overwent Much the same ground of reasoning As you and I just now. One thing Remained, however -- one that tasked My soul to answer; and I asked, Fairly and frankly, what might be That History, that Faith, to me -- Me there -- not me in some domain Built up and peopled by my brain, Weighing its merits as one weighs Mere theories for blame or praise, -- The kingcraft of the Lucumons, Or Fourier's scheme, its pros and cons, -- But my faith there, or none at all. "How were my case, now, did I fall Dead here, this minute -- should I lie Faithful or faithless?" Note that I Inclined thus ever! -- little prone For instance, when I lay alone In childhood, to go calm to sleep And leave a closet where might keep His watch perdue some murderer Waiting till twelve o'clock to stir, As good authentic legends tell: "He might: but how improbable! How little likely to deserve The pains and trial to the nerve Of thrusting head into the dark!" -- Urged my old nurse, and bade me mark Beside, that, should the dreadful scout Really lie hid there, and leap out At first turn of the rusty key, Mine were small gain that she could see, Killed not in bed but on the floor, And losing one night's sleep the more. I tell you, I would always burst The door ope, know my fate at first. This time, indeed, the closet penned No such assassin: but a friend Rather, peeped out to guard me, fit For counsel, Common Sense, to wit, Who said a good deal that might pass, -- Heartening, impartial too, it was, Judge else: "For, soberly now, -- who Should be a Christian if not you?" (Hear how he smoothed me down.) "One takes A whole life, sees what course it makes Mainly, and not by fits and starts -- In spite of stoppage which imparts Fresh value to the general speed. A life, with none, would fly indeed: Your progressing is slower -- right! We deal with progress and not flight. Through baffling senses passionate, Fancies as restless, -- with a freight Of knowledge cumbersome enough To sink your ship when waves grow rough, Though meant for ballast in the hold, -- I find, 'mid dangers manifold, The good bark answers to the helm Where faith sits, easier to o'erwhelm Than some stout peasant's heavenly guide, Whose hard head could not, if it tried, Conceive a doubt, nor understand How senses hornier than his hand Should 'tice the Christian off his guard. More happy! But shall we award Less honor to the hull which, dogged By storms, a mere wreck, waterlogged, Masts by the board, her bulwarks gone And stanchions going, yet bears on, -- Than to mere lifeboats, built to save, And triumph o'er the breaking wave? Make perfect your good ship as these, And what were her performances!" I added -- "Would the ship reach home! I wish indeed 'God's kingdom come' -- The day when I shall see appear His bidding, as my duty, clear From doubt! And it shall dawn, that day, Some future season; Easter may Prove, not impossibly, the time -- Yes, that were striking -- fates would chime So aptly! Easter-morn, to bring The Judgment! -- deeper in the spring Than now, however, when there's snow Capping the hills; for earth must show All signs of meaning to pursue Her tasks as she was wont to do -- The skylark, taken by surprise As we ourselves, shall recognize Sudden the end. For suddenly It comes; the dreadfulness must be In that; all warrants the belief -- 'At night it cometh like a thief.' I fancy why the trumpet blows; -- Plainly, to wake one. From repose We shall start up, at last awake From life, that insane dream we take For waking now, because it seems. And as, when now we wake from dreams, We laugh, while we recall them, 'Fool, To let the chance slip, linger cool When such adventure offered! Just A bridge to cross, a dwarf to thrust Aside, a wicked mage to stab -- And, lo ye, I had kissed Queen Mab!' So shall we marvel why we grudged Our labor here, and idly judged Of heaven, we might have gained, but lose! Lose? Talk of loss, and I refuse To plead at all! You speak no worse Nor better than my ancient nurse When she would tell me in my youth I well deserved that shapes uncouth Frighted and teased me in my sleep: Why could I not in memory keep Her precept for the evil's cure? 'Pinch your own arm, boy, and be sure You'll wake forthwith!'" XV And as I said This nonsense, throwing back my head With light complacent laugh, I found Suddenly all the midnight round One fire. The dome of heaven had stood As made up of a multitude Of handbreadth cloudlets, one vast rack Of ripples infinite and black, From sky to sky. Sudden there went, Like horror and astonishment, A fierce vindictive scribble of red Quick flame across, as if one said (The angry scribe of Judgment) "There -- Burn it!" And straight I was aware That the whole ribwork round, minute Cloud touching cloud beyond compute, Was tinted, each with its own spot Of burning at the core, till clot Jammed against clot, and spilt its fire Over all heaven, which 'gan suspire As fanned to measure equable, -- Just so great conflagrations kill Night overhead, and rise and sink, Reflected. Now the fire would shrink And wither off the blasted face Of heaven, and I distinct might trace The sharp black ridgy outlines left Unburned like network -- then, each cleft The fire had been sucked back into, Regorged, and out it surging flew Furiously, and night writhed inflamed, Till, tolerating to be tamed No longer, certain rays world-wide Shot downwardly. On every side Caught past escape, the earth was lit; As if a dragon's nostril split And all his famished ire o'erflowed; Then, as he winced at his lord's goad, Back he inhaled: whereat I found The clouds into vast pillars bound, Based on the corners of the earth, Propping the skies at top: a dearth Of fire i' the violet intervals, Leaving exposed the utmost walls Of time, about to tumble in And end the world. XVI I felt begin The Judgment-Day: to retrocede Was too late now. "In very deed," (I uttered to myself) "that Day!" The intuition burned away All darkness from my spirit too: There, stood I, found and fixed, I knew, Choosing the world. The choice was made; And naked and disguiseless stayed, And unevadable, the fact. My brain held all the same compact Its senses, nor my heart declined Its office; rather, both combined To help me in this juncture. I Lost not a second, -- agony Gave boldness: since my life had end And my choice with it -- best defend, Applaud both! I resolved to say, "So was I framed by thee, such way I put to use thy senses here! It was so beautiful, so near, Thy world, -- what could I then but choose My part there? Nor did I refuse To look above the transient boon Of time; but it was hard so soon As in a short life, to give up Such beauty: I could put the cup, Undrained of half its fulness, by; But, to renounce it utterly, -- That was too hard! Nor did the cry Which bade renounce it, touch my brain Authentically deep and plain Enough to make my lips let go. But thou, who knowest all, dost know Whether I was not, life's brief while, Endeavoring to reconcile Those lips (too tardily, alas!) To letting the dear remnant pass, One day, -- some drops of earthly good Untasted! Is it for this mood, That thou, whose earth delights so well, Hast made its complement a hell?" XVII A final belch of fire like blood, Overbroke all heaven in one flood Of doom. Then fire was sky, and sky Fire, and both, one brief ecstasy, Then ashes. But I heard no noise (Whatever was) because a voice Beside me spoke thus, "Life is done, Time ends, Eternity's begun, And thou art judged forevermore." XVIII I looked up; all seemed as before; Of that cloud-Tophet overhead No trace was left: I saw instead The common round me, and the sky Above, stretched drear and emptily Of life. 'T was the last watch of night, Except what brings the morning quite; When the armed angel, conscience-clear, His task nigh done, leans o'er his spear And gazes on the earth he guards, Safe one night more through all its wards, Till God relieve him at his post. "A dream -- a waking dream at most!" (I spoke out quick, that I might shake The horrid nightmare off, and wake.) "The world gone, yet the world is here? Are not all things as they appear? Is Judgment past for me alone? -- And where had place the great white throne? The rising of the quick and dead? Where stood they, small and great? Who read The sentence from the opened book?" So, by degrees, the blood forsook My heart, and let it beat afresh; I knew I should break through the mesh Of horror, and breathe presently: When, lo, again, the voice by me! XIX I saw ... O brother, 'mid far sands The palm-tree-cinctured city stands, Bright-white beneath, as heaven, bright-blue, Leans o'er it, while the years pursue Their course, unable to abate Its paradisal laugh at fate! One morn, -- the Arab staggers blind O'er a new tract of death, calcined To ashes, silence, nothingness, -- And strives, with dizzy wits, to guess Whence fell the blow. What if, 'twixt skies And prostrate earth, he should surprise The imaged vapor, head to foot, Surveying, motionless and mute, Its work, ere, in a whirlwind rapt It vanish up again? -- So hapt My chance. 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 head, 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. XX "All is come to pass. Such shows are over for each soul They had respect to. In the roll Of Judgment 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 judgments to dispense To the whole race, as every one Were its sole object. Judgment 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 plain 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 'T was fitter spirit should subserve The flesh, than flesh refine to nerve Beneath the spirit'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: 't is thine Forever -- take it!" XXI "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?" XXII 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!" XXIII 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? XXIV 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!" XXV 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; 't is man stamps the earth -- And I will seek his impress, seek The statuary of the Greek, Italy's painting -- there my choice Shall fix!" XXVI "Obtain it!" said the voice, "The one form with its single act, Which sculptors labored to abstract, The one face, painters tried to draw, With its one look, from throngs they saw And that perfection in their soul, These only hinted at? The whole, They were but parts of? What each laid His claim to glory on? --afraid His fellow-men should give him rank By mere tentatives which he shrank Smitten at heart from, all the more, That gazers pressed in to adore! 'Shall I be judged by only these?' If such his soul's capacities, Even while he trod the earth, -- think, now What pomp in Buonarroti's brow, With its new palace-brain where dwells Superb the soul, unvexed by cells That crumbled with the transient clay! What visions will his right hand's sway Still turn to forms, as still they burst Upon him? How will he quench thirst, Titanically infantine, Laid at the breast of the Divine? Does it confound thee, -- this first page Emblazoning man's heritage? -- Can this alone absorb thy sight, As pages were not infinite, -- Like the omnipotence which tasks Itself to furnish all that asks The soul it means to satiate? What was the world, the starry state Of the broad skies, -- what, all displays Of power and beauty intermixed, Which now thy soul is chained betwixt, -- What else than needful furniture For life's first stage? God's work, be sure No more spreads wasted, than falls scant! He filled, did not exceed, man's want Of beauty in this life. 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; Naught here 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 bad, retried. See the enwrapping rocky niche, Sufficient for the sleep in which The lizard breathes for ages safe: Split the mould -- and as light would chafe The creature's new world-widened sense, Dazzled to death at evidence Of all the sounds and sights that broke Innumerous 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 forever; 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!" XXVII 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 equipped 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, forego 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 favored feet Stand calm, where I want wings to beat The floor. At least earth's bond is broke!" XXVIII 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, Which 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 the earth 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!" XXIX 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 living 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 look on me; and I will match Departed love with love, attach Old memories to new dreams, 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, -- Leave to love, only!" XXX 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? 'T is 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: 't would well beseem Cain's nature thou wast wont to praise, Not tally with God's usual ways!" XXXI 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!" XXXII Then did the form expand, expand -- I knew him through the dread disguise As the whole God within his eyes Embraced me. XXXIII When I lived again, The day was breaking, -- the gray plain I rose from, silvered thick with dew. Was this a vision? False or true? Since then, three varied years are spent, And commonly my mind is bent To think it was a dream -- be sure A mere dream and distemperature -- The last day's watching: then the night, -- The shock of that strange Northern Light Set my head swimming, bred in me A dream. And so I live, you see, Go through the world, try, prove, reject. Prefer, still struggling to effect My warfare; happy that I can Be crossed and thwarted as a man, Not left in God's contempt apart, With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart. Tame in earth's paddock as her prize. Thank God, she still each method tries To catch me, who may yet escape, She knows, -- the fiend in angel's shape! Thank God, no paradise stands barred To entry, and I find it hard To be a Christian, as I said! Still every now and then my head Raised glad, sinks mournful -- all grows drear Spite of the sunshine, while I fear And think, "How dreadful to be grudged No ease henceforth, as one that's judged, Condemned to earth forever, shut From heaven!" But Easter-Day breaks! But Christ rises! Mercy every way Is infinite, -- and who can say? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EASTER EVE by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON EASTER SUNDAY by LUCILLE CLIFTON GOD SEND EASTER by LUCILLE CLIFTON NOT THE CUCKOLD'S DREAM; FOR SAM PEREIRA by NORMAN DUBIE EASTER HYMN by GEORGE SANTAYANA I DEFINE THE DARKNESS CORRECT: THE FESTIVAL OF THE FRERES LUMIERES by ELENI SIKELIANOS SPANISH EASTER: 1926 by CONRAD AIKEN CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME' by ROBERT BROWNING |
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