To me, who must be saved because I cling Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes For the fullness of the days? Have Annulling youth's brief years, Rejoice we are allied To that which doth provide 25 Would we some prize might hold 65 And not partake, effect and not receive! Possessions of the brute,-gain most, as we did best! Whose spirit works lest arms and legs Fearless and unperplexed, Whose flesh has soul to suit, want play? To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Brain treasured up the whole; When I wage battle next, 45 What weapons to select, what armor to indue.2 85 50 Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: Should not the heart beat once, "How good to live and learn?" Not once beat, "Praise be thine! I see the whole design, 55 Youth ended, I shall try My gain or loss thereby; The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too; A whisper from the west. The Future I may face now I have proved Found straightway to its mind, could the Past." Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite 115 value in a trice: Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel 150 Be named here, as thou callest thy hand Why time spins fast, why passive lies our thine own, Was I, the world arraigned, Were they, my soul disdained, 125 clay, What entered into thee, That was, is, and shall be: 160 Right? Let age speak the truth and give Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter us peace at last! Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten, who in ears and eyes and clay endure. He fixed thee 'mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: 130 Machinery just meant They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe? To give thy soul its bent, 165 Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. At the midnight in the silence of the sleeptime, When you set your fancies free, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (1806-1861) SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE I I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wishedfor years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 5 I saw in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, Will they pass to where-by death, fools So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move think, imprisoned Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; II And a voice said in mastery while I strove, "Guess now who holds thee?" -"Death!" I said. But there, The silver answer rang: "Not Death, but Love." VII The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. ΙΟ |