| I wonder do you feel to-day |
| As I have felt since, hand in hand, |
| We sat down on the grass, to stray |
| In spirit better through the land, |
This morn of Rome and May?
|
| For me, I touched a thought, I know, |
| Has tantalized me many times, |
| (Like turns of thread the spiders throw |
| Mocking across our path) for rhymes |
To catch at and let go.
|
| Help me to hold it! First it left |
| The yellowing fennel, run to seed |
| There, branching from the brickwork’s
cleft, |
| Some old tomb’s ruin : yonder weed |
Took up the floating weft,
|
| Where one small orange cup amassed |
| Five beetles,―blind
and green they grope |
| Among the honey-meal : and last, |
| Everywhere on the grassy slope |
I traced it. Hold it fast!
|
| The champaign with its endless fleece |
| Of feathery grasses everywhere! |
| Silence and passion, joy and peace, |
| An everlasting wash of air― |
Rome’s ghost since her decease.
|
| Such life here, through such lengths of
hours, |
| Such miracles performed in play, |
| Such primal naked forms of flowers, |
| Such letting nature have her way |
While heaven looks from its towers!
|
| How say you? Let us, O my dove, |
| Let us be unashamed of soul, |
| As earth lies bare to heaven above! |
| How is it under our control |
To love or not to love?
|
| I would that you were all to me, |
| You that are just so much, no more. |
| Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free! |
| Where does the fault lie? What the core |
O’ the wound, since wound must be?
|
| I would I could adopt your will, |
| See with your eyes, and set my heart |
| Beating by yours, and drink my fill |
| At your soul’s springs,―your
part my part |
In life, for good and ill.
|
| No. I yearn upward, touch you close, |
| Then stand away. I kiss your cheek, |
| Catch your soul’s warmth,―I
pluck the rose |
| And love it more than tongue can speak― |
Then the good minute goes.
|
| Already how am I so far |
| Out of that minute? Must I go |
| Still like the thistle-ball, no bar, |
| Onward, whenever light winds blow, |
Fixed by no friendly star?
|
| Just when I seemed about to learn! |
| Where is the thread now? Off again! |
| The old trick! Only I discern― |
| Infinite passion, and the pain |
Of finite hearts that yearn.
|
| Robert Browning
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ A Toccata of Galuppi's ] [ Epilogue to Asolando ] [ Confessions ] [ Home Thoughts from Abroad ] [ Love among the Ruins ] [ Two in the Campagna ] [ Meeting at Night ] [ Love in a Life ] [ Home Thoughts from the Sea ] [ The Lost Leader ] [ My Last Duchess ] |
