_He_ had left her, peradventure, when my
footstep
proved my coming,
But for _her_--she half arose, then sate, grew scarlet and grew pale.
But for _her_--she half arose, then sate, grew scarlet and grew pale.
Elizabeth Browning
Whom I marry shall be noble,
Ay, and wealthy. I shall never blush to think how he was born. "
LXVII.
There, I maddened! her words stung me. Life swept through me into
fever,
And my soul sprang up astonished, sprang full-statured in an hour.
Know you what it is when anguish, with apocalyptic NEVER,
To a Pythian height dilates you, and despair sublimes to power?
LXVIII.
From my brain the soul-wings budded, waved a flame about my body,
Whence conventions coiled to ashes. I felt self-drawn out, as man,
From amalgamate false natures, and I saw the skies grow ruddy
With the deepening feet of angels, and I knew what spirits can.
LXIX.
I was mad, inspired--say either! (anguish worketh inspiration)
Was a man or beast--perhaps so, for the tiger roars when speared;
And I walked on, step by step along the level of my passion--
Oh my soul! and passed the doorway to her face, and never feared.
LXX.
_He_ had left her, peradventure, when my footstep proved my coming,
But for _her_--she half arose, then sate, grew scarlet and grew pale.
Oh, she trembled! 't is so always with a worldly man or woman
In the presence of true spirits; what else _can_ they do but quail?
LXXI.
Oh, she fluttered like a tame bird, in among its forest-brothers
Far too strong for it; then drooping, bowed her face upon her hands;
And I spake out wildly, fiercely, brutal truths of her and others:
_I_, she planted in the desert, swathed her, windlike, with my sands.
LXXII.
I plucked up her social fictions, bloody-rooted though leaf-verdant,
Trod them down with words of shaming,--all the purple and the gold.
All the "landed stakes" and lordships, all that spirits pure and ardent
Are cast out of love and honour because chancing not to hold.
LXXIII.
"For myself I do not argue," said I, "though I love you, madam,
But for better souls that nearer to the height of yours have trod:
And this age shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam
Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God.
LXXIV.
"Yet, O God," I said, "O grave," I said, "O mother's heart and bosom,
With whom first and last are equal, saint and corpse and little child!
We are fools to your deductions, in these figments of heart-closing;
We are traitors to your causes, in these sympathies defiled.
LXXV.
"Learn more reverence, madam, not for rank or wealth--_that_ needs no
learning:
_That_ comes quickly, quick as sin does, ay, and culminates to sin;
But for Adam's seed, MAN! Trust me, 't is a clay above your scorning,
With God's image stamped upon it, and God's kindling breath within.
Ay, and wealthy. I shall never blush to think how he was born. "
LXVII.
There, I maddened! her words stung me. Life swept through me into
fever,
And my soul sprang up astonished, sprang full-statured in an hour.
Know you what it is when anguish, with apocalyptic NEVER,
To a Pythian height dilates you, and despair sublimes to power?
LXVIII.
From my brain the soul-wings budded, waved a flame about my body,
Whence conventions coiled to ashes. I felt self-drawn out, as man,
From amalgamate false natures, and I saw the skies grow ruddy
With the deepening feet of angels, and I knew what spirits can.
LXIX.
I was mad, inspired--say either! (anguish worketh inspiration)
Was a man or beast--perhaps so, for the tiger roars when speared;
And I walked on, step by step along the level of my passion--
Oh my soul! and passed the doorway to her face, and never feared.
LXX.
_He_ had left her, peradventure, when my footstep proved my coming,
But for _her_--she half arose, then sate, grew scarlet and grew pale.
Oh, she trembled! 't is so always with a worldly man or woman
In the presence of true spirits; what else _can_ they do but quail?
LXXI.
Oh, she fluttered like a tame bird, in among its forest-brothers
Far too strong for it; then drooping, bowed her face upon her hands;
And I spake out wildly, fiercely, brutal truths of her and others:
_I_, she planted in the desert, swathed her, windlike, with my sands.
LXXII.
I plucked up her social fictions, bloody-rooted though leaf-verdant,
Trod them down with words of shaming,--all the purple and the gold.
All the "landed stakes" and lordships, all that spirits pure and ardent
Are cast out of love and honour because chancing not to hold.
LXXIII.
"For myself I do not argue," said I, "though I love you, madam,
But for better souls that nearer to the height of yours have trod:
And this age shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam
Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God.
LXXIV.
"Yet, O God," I said, "O grave," I said, "O mother's heart and bosom,
With whom first and last are equal, saint and corpse and little child!
We are fools to your deductions, in these figments of heart-closing;
We are traitors to your causes, in these sympathies defiled.
LXXV.
"Learn more reverence, madam, not for rank or wealth--_that_ needs no
learning:
_That_ comes quickly, quick as sin does, ay, and culminates to sin;
But for Adam's seed, MAN! Trust me, 't is a clay above your scorning,
With God's image stamped upon it, and God's kindling breath within.
