Introduction to Robert Browning [93]
In token of a marriage rare: For him on earth, his art's despair, For him in heaven, his soul's fit bride.
3.
Little girl with the poor coarse hand I turned from to a cold clay cast -- [50] I have my lesson, understand The worth of flesh and blood at last! Nothing but beauty in a Hand? Because he could not change the hue, Mend the lines and make them true To this which met his soul's demand, -- Would Da Vinci turn from you? I hear him laugh my woes to scorn -- "The fool forsooth is all forlorn Because the beauty, she thinks best, [60] Lived long ago or was never born, -- Because no beauty bears the test In this rough peasant Hand! Confessed `Art is null and study void!' So sayest thou? So said not I, Who threw the faulty pencil by, And years instead of hours employed, Learning the veritable use Of flesh and bone and nerve beneath Lines and hue of the outer sheath, [70] If haply I might reproduce One motive of the mechanism, Flesh and bone and nerve that make The poorest coarsest human hand An object worthy to be scanned A whole life long for their sole sake. Shall earth and the cramped moment-space Yield the heavenly crowning grace? Now the parts and then the whole! Who art thou, with stinted soul [80] And stunted body, thus to cry `I love, -- shall that be life's strait dole? I must live beloved or die!' This peasant hand that spins the wool And bakes the bread, why lives it on, Poor and coarse with beauty gone, -- What use survives the beauty? Fool!"
Go, little girl with the poor coarse hand! I have my lesson, shall understand.
IX. On Deck.
1.
There is nothing to remember in me, Nothing I ever said with a grace, Nothing I did that you care to see, Nothing I was that deserves a place In your mind, now I leave you, set you free.
-- St. 1. Nothing I did that you care to see: refers to her art-work.
2.
Conceded! In turn, concede to me, Such things have been as a mutual flame. Your soul's locked fast; but, love for a key, You might let it loose, till I grew the same In your eyes, as in mine you stand: strange plea!
3.
For then, then, what would it matter to me That I was the harsh, ill-favored one? We both should be like as pea and pea; It was ever so since the world begun: So, let me proceed with my reverie.
-- St. 3. Here it is indicated that she had not the personal charms which were needed to maintain her husband's interest. A pretty face was more to him than a deep loving soul.
4.
How strange it were if you had all me, As I have all you in my heart and brain, You, whose least word brought gloom or glee, Who never lifted the hand in vain Will hold mine yet, from over the sea!
5.
Strange, if a face, when you thought of me, Rose like your own face present now, With eyes as dear in their due degree, Much such a mouth, and as bright a brow, Till you saw yourself, while you cried "'Tis She!"
6.
Well, you may, you must, set down to me Love that was life, life that was love; A tenure of breath at your lips' decree, A passion to stand as your thoughts approve, A rapture to fall where your foot might be.
-- St. 6. vv. 3-5 express the entire devotion and submissiveness of her love.
7.
But did one touch of such love for me Come in a word or a look of yours, Whose words and looks will, circling, flee Round me and round while life endures, -- Could I fancy "As I feel, thus feels He";
8.
Why, fade you might to a thing like me, And your hair grow these coarse hanks of hair, Your skin, this bark of a gnarled tree, -- You might turn myself! -- should I know or care, When I should be dead of joy, James Lee?
A Tale.
Epilogue to `The Two Poets of Croisic'.
1.
What a pretty tale you told me Once upon a time -- Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) Was it prose or was it rhyme, Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, While your shoulder propped my head.
2.
Anyhow there's no forgetting This much if no more, That
3.
Little girl with the poor coarse hand I turned from to a cold clay cast -- [50] I have my lesson, understand The worth of flesh and blood at last! Nothing but beauty in a Hand? Because he could not change the hue, Mend the lines and make them true To this which met his soul's demand, -- Would Da Vinci turn from you? I hear him laugh my woes to scorn -- "The fool forsooth is all forlorn Because the beauty, she thinks best, [60] Lived long ago or was never born, -- Because no beauty bears the test In this rough peasant Hand! Confessed `Art is null and study void!' So sayest thou? So said not I, Who threw the faulty pencil by, And years instead of hours employed, Learning the veritable use Of flesh and bone and nerve beneath Lines and hue of the outer sheath, [70] If haply I might reproduce One motive of the mechanism, Flesh and bone and nerve that make The poorest coarsest human hand An object worthy to be scanned A whole life long for their sole sake. Shall earth and the cramped moment-space Yield the heavenly crowning grace? Now the parts and then the whole! Who art thou, with stinted soul [80] And stunted body, thus to cry `I love, -- shall that be life's strait dole? I must live beloved or die!' This peasant hand that spins the wool And bakes the bread, why lives it on, Poor and coarse with beauty gone, -- What use survives the beauty? Fool!"
Go, little girl with the poor coarse hand! I have my lesson, shall understand.
IX. On Deck.
1.
There is nothing to remember in me, Nothing I ever said with a grace, Nothing I did that you care to see, Nothing I was that deserves a place In your mind, now I leave you, set you free.
-- St. 1. Nothing I did that you care to see: refers to her art-work.
2.
Conceded! In turn, concede to me, Such things have been as a mutual flame. Your soul's locked fast; but, love for a key, You might let it loose, till I grew the same In your eyes, as in mine you stand: strange plea!
3.
For then, then, what would it matter to me That I was the harsh, ill-favored one? We both should be like as pea and pea; It was ever so since the world begun: So, let me proceed with my reverie.
-- St. 3. Here it is indicated that she had not the personal charms which were needed to maintain her husband's interest. A pretty face was more to him than a deep loving soul.
4.
How strange it were if you had all me, As I have all you in my heart and brain, You, whose least word brought gloom or glee, Who never lifted the hand in vain Will hold mine yet, from over the sea!
5.
Strange, if a face, when you thought of me, Rose like your own face present now, With eyes as dear in their due degree, Much such a mouth, and as bright a brow, Till you saw yourself, while you cried "'Tis She!"
6.
Well, you may, you must, set down to me Love that was life, life that was love; A tenure of breath at your lips' decree, A passion to stand as your thoughts approve, A rapture to fall where your foot might be.
-- St. 6. vv. 3-5 express the entire devotion and submissiveness of her love.
7.
But did one touch of such love for me Come in a word or a look of yours, Whose words and looks will, circling, flee Round me and round while life endures, -- Could I fancy "As I feel, thus feels He";
8.
Why, fade you might to a thing like me, And your hair grow these coarse hanks of hair, Your skin, this bark of a gnarled tree, -- You might turn myself! -- should I know or care, When I should be dead of joy, James Lee?
A Tale.
Epilogue to `The Two Poets of Croisic'.
1.
What a pretty tale you told me Once upon a time -- Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) Was it prose or was it rhyme, Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, While your shoulder propped my head.
2.
Anyhow there's no forgetting This much if no more, That