Come, I am tired of silence! Pause enough!You have prayed: I have gone inside my soulAnd shut its door behind me: 't is your torchMakes the place dark: the darkness let aloneGrows tolerable twilight: one may gropeAnd get to guess at length and breadth and depth.What is this fact I feel persuaded of—This something like a foothold in the sea,Although Saint Peter's bark scuds, billow-borne,Leaves me to founder where it flung me first?Spite of your splashing, I am high and dry!God takes his own part in each thing he made;Made for a reason, he conserves his work,Gives each its proper instinct of defence.My lamblike wife could neither bark nor bite,She bleated, bleated, till for pity pureThe village roused up, ran with pole and prongTo the rescue, and behold the wolf 's at bay!Shall he try bleating?—or take turn or two,Since the wolf owns some kinship with the fox,And, failing to escape the foe by craft,Give up attempt, die fighting quietly?The last bad blow that strikes fire in at eyeAnd on to brain, and so out, life and all,How can it but be cheated of a pangIf, fighting quietly, the jaws enjoyOne re-embrace in mid backbone they break,After their weary work through the foe's flesh?That 's the wolf-nature. Don't mistake my trope!A Cardinal so qualmish? Eminence,My fight is figurative, blows i' the air,Brain-war with powers and principalities,Spirit-bravado, no real fisticuffs!I shall not presently, when the knock comes,Cling to this bench nor claw the hangman's face,No, trust me! I conceive worse lots than mine.Whether it be, the old contagious fitAnd plague o' the prison have surprised me too,The appropriate drunkenness of the death-hourCrept on my sense, kind work o' the wine and myrrh,—I know not,—I begin to taste my strength,Careless, gay even. What's the worth of life?The Pope 's dead now, my murderous old man,For Tozzi told me so: and you, forsooth—Why, you don't think, Abate, do your best,You 'll live a year more with that hacking coughAnd blotch of crimson where the cheek 's a pit?Tozzi has got you also down in book!Cardinal, only seventh of seventy near,Is not one called Albano in the lot?Go eat your heart, you 'll never be a Pope!Inform me, is it true you left your love,A Pucci, for promotion in the church?She 's more than in the church—in the churchyard!Plautilla Pucci, your affianced bride,Has dust now in the eyes that held the love,—And Martinez, suppose they make you Pope,Stops that withveto,—so, enjoy yourself!I see you all reel to the rock, you waves—Some forthright, some describe a sinuous track,Some, crested brilliantly, with heads above,Some in a strangled swirl sunk who knows how,But all bound whither the main-current sets,Rockward, an end in foam for all of you!What if I be o'ertaken, pushed to the frontBy all you crowding smoother souls behind,And reach, a minute sooner than was meant,The boundary whereon I break to mist?Go to! the smoothest safest of you all,Most perfect and compact wave in my train,Spite of the blue tranquillity above,Spite of the breadth before of lapsing peace,Where broods the halcyon and the fish leaps free,Will presently begin to feel the prickAt lazy heart, the push at torpid brain,Will rock vertiginously in turn, and reel,And, emulative, rush to death like me.Later or sooner by a minute then,So much for the untimeliness of death!And, as regards the manner that offends,The rude and rough, I count the same for gain.Be the act harsh and quick! UndoubtedlyThe soul 's condensed and, twice itself, expandsTo burst through life, by alternation due,Into the other state whate'er it prove.You never know what life means till you die:Even throughout life, 't is death that makes life live,Gives it whatever the significance.For see, on your own ground and argument,Suppose life had no death to fear, how findA possibility of noblenessIn man, prevented daring any more?What 's love, what 's faith without a worst to dread?Lack-lustre jewelry! but faith and loveWith death behind them bidding do or die—Put such a foil at back, the sparkle 's born!From out myself how the strange colors come!Is there a new rule in another world?Be sure I shall resign myself: as hereI recognized no law I could not see,There, what I see, I shall acknowledge too:On earth I never took the Pope for God,In heaven I shall scarce take God for the Pope,Unmanned, remanned: I hold it probable—With something changeless at the heart of meTo know me by, some nucleus that 's myself:Accretions did it wrong? Away with them—You soon shall see the use of fire!Till when,All that was, is; and must forever be.Nor is it in me to unhate my hates,—I use up my last strength to strike once moreOld Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face,To trample underfoot the whine and wileOf beast Violante,—and I grow one gorgeTo loathingly reject Pompilia's palePoison my hasty hunger took for food.A strong tree wants no wreaths about its trunk,No cloying-cups, no sickly sweet of scent,But sustenance at root, a bucketful.How else lived that Athenian who died so,Drinking hot bull's blood, fit for men like me?I lived and died a man, and take man's chance,Honest and bold: right will be done to such.Who are these you have let descend my stair?Ha, their accursed psalm! Lights at the sill!Is it "Open" they dare bid you? Treachery!Sirs, have I spoken one word all this whileOut of the world of words I had to say?Not one word! All was folly—I laughed and mocked!Sirs, my first true word, all truth and no lie,Is—save me notwithstanding! Life is all!I was just stark mad,—let the madman livePressed by as many chains as you please pile!Don't open! Hold me from them! I am yours,I am the Granduke's—no, I am the Pope's!Abate,—Cardinal,—Christ,—Maria,—God, ...Pompilia, will you let them murder me?
Come, I am tired of silence! Pause enough!You have prayed: I have gone inside my soulAnd shut its door behind me: 't is your torchMakes the place dark: the darkness let aloneGrows tolerable twilight: one may gropeAnd get to guess at length and breadth and depth.What is this fact I feel persuaded of—This something like a foothold in the sea,Although Saint Peter's bark scuds, billow-borne,Leaves me to founder where it flung me first?Spite of your splashing, I am high and dry!God takes his own part in each thing he made;Made for a reason, he conserves his work,Gives each its proper instinct of defence.My lamblike wife could neither bark nor bite,She bleated, bleated, till for pity pureThe village roused up, ran with pole and prongTo the rescue, and behold the wolf 's at bay!Shall he try bleating?—or take turn or two,Since the wolf owns some kinship with the fox,And, failing to escape the foe by craft,Give up attempt, die fighting quietly?The last bad blow that strikes fire in at eyeAnd on to brain, and so out, life and all,How can it but be cheated of a pangIf, fighting quietly, the jaws enjoyOne re-embrace in mid backbone they break,After their weary work through the foe's flesh?That 's the wolf-nature. Don't mistake my trope!A Cardinal so qualmish? Eminence,My fight is figurative, blows i' the air,Brain-war with powers and principalities,Spirit-bravado, no real fisticuffs!I shall not presently, when the knock comes,Cling to this bench nor claw the hangman's face,No, trust me! I conceive worse lots than mine.Whether it be, the old contagious fitAnd plague o' the prison have surprised me too,The appropriate drunkenness of the death-hourCrept on my sense, kind work o' the wine and myrrh,—I know not,—I begin to taste my strength,Careless, gay even. What's the worth of life?The Pope 's dead now, my murderous old man,For Tozzi told me so: and you, forsooth—Why, you don't think, Abate, do your best,You 'll live a year more with that hacking coughAnd blotch of crimson where the cheek 's a pit?Tozzi has got you also down in book!Cardinal, only seventh of seventy near,Is not one called Albano in the lot?Go eat your heart, you 'll never be a Pope!Inform me, is it true you left your love,A Pucci, for promotion in the church?She 's more than in the church—in the churchyard!Plautilla Pucci, your affianced bride,Has dust now in the eyes that held the love,—And Martinez, suppose they make you Pope,Stops that withveto,—so, enjoy yourself!I see you all reel to the rock, you waves—Some forthright, some describe a sinuous track,Some, crested brilliantly, with heads above,Some in a strangled swirl sunk who knows how,But all bound whither the main-current sets,Rockward, an end in foam for all of you!What if I be o'ertaken, pushed to the frontBy all you crowding smoother souls behind,And reach, a minute sooner than was meant,The boundary whereon I break to mist?Go to! the smoothest safest of you all,Most perfect and compact wave in my train,Spite of the blue tranquillity above,Spite of the breadth before of lapsing peace,Where broods the halcyon and the fish leaps free,Will presently begin to feel the prickAt lazy heart, the push at torpid brain,Will rock vertiginously in turn, and reel,And, emulative, rush to death like me.Later or sooner by a minute then,So much for the untimeliness of death!And, as regards the manner that offends,The rude and rough, I count the same for gain.Be the act harsh and quick! UndoubtedlyThe soul 's condensed and, twice itself, expandsTo burst through life, by alternation due,Into the other state whate'er it prove.You never know what life means till you die:Even throughout life, 't is death that makes life live,Gives it whatever the significance.For see, on your own ground and argument,Suppose life had no death to fear, how findA possibility of noblenessIn man, prevented daring any more?What 's love, what 's faith without a worst to dread?Lack-lustre jewelry! but faith and loveWith death behind them bidding do or die—Put such a foil at back, the sparkle 's born!From out myself how the strange colors come!Is there a new rule in another world?Be sure I shall resign myself: as hereI recognized no law I could not see,There, what I see, I shall acknowledge too:On earth I never took the Pope for God,In heaven I shall scarce take God for the Pope,Unmanned, remanned: I hold it probable—With something changeless at the heart of meTo know me by, some nucleus that 's myself:Accretions did it wrong? Away with them—You soon shall see the use of fire!Till when,All that was, is; and must forever be.Nor is it in me to unhate my hates,—I use up my last strength to strike once moreOld Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face,To trample underfoot the whine and wileOf beast Violante,—and I grow one gorgeTo loathingly reject Pompilia's palePoison my hasty hunger took for food.A strong tree wants no wreaths about its trunk,No cloying-cups, no sickly sweet of scent,But sustenance at root, a bucketful.How else lived that Athenian who died so,Drinking hot bull's blood, fit for men like me?I lived and died a man, and take man's chance,Honest and bold: right will be done to such.Who are these you have let descend my stair?Ha, their accursed psalm! Lights at the sill!Is it "Open" they dare bid you? Treachery!Sirs, have I spoken one word all this whileOut of the world of words I had to say?Not one word! All was folly—I laughed and mocked!Sirs, my first true word, all truth and no lie,Is—save me notwithstanding! Life is all!I was just stark mad,—let the madman livePressed by as many chains as you please pile!Don't open! Hold me from them! I am yours,I am the Granduke's—no, I am the Pope's!Abate,—Cardinal,—Christ,—Maria,—God, ...Pompilia, will you let them murder me?
Come, I am tired of silence! Pause enough!You have prayed: I have gone inside my soulAnd shut its door behind me: 't is your torchMakes the place dark: the darkness let aloneGrows tolerable twilight: one may gropeAnd get to guess at length and breadth and depth.What is this fact I feel persuaded of—This something like a foothold in the sea,Although Saint Peter's bark scuds, billow-borne,Leaves me to founder where it flung me first?Spite of your splashing, I am high and dry!God takes his own part in each thing he made;Made for a reason, he conserves his work,Gives each its proper instinct of defence.My lamblike wife could neither bark nor bite,She bleated, bleated, till for pity pureThe village roused up, ran with pole and prongTo the rescue, and behold the wolf 's at bay!Shall he try bleating?—or take turn or two,Since the wolf owns some kinship with the fox,And, failing to escape the foe by craft,Give up attempt, die fighting quietly?The last bad blow that strikes fire in at eyeAnd on to brain, and so out, life and all,How can it but be cheated of a pangIf, fighting quietly, the jaws enjoyOne re-embrace in mid backbone they break,After their weary work through the foe's flesh?That 's the wolf-nature. Don't mistake my trope!A Cardinal so qualmish? Eminence,My fight is figurative, blows i' the air,Brain-war with powers and principalities,Spirit-bravado, no real fisticuffs!I shall not presently, when the knock comes,Cling to this bench nor claw the hangman's face,No, trust me! I conceive worse lots than mine.Whether it be, the old contagious fitAnd plague o' the prison have surprised me too,The appropriate drunkenness of the death-hourCrept on my sense, kind work o' the wine and myrrh,—I know not,—I begin to taste my strength,Careless, gay even. What's the worth of life?The Pope 's dead now, my murderous old man,For Tozzi told me so: and you, forsooth—Why, you don't think, Abate, do your best,You 'll live a year more with that hacking coughAnd blotch of crimson where the cheek 's a pit?Tozzi has got you also down in book!Cardinal, only seventh of seventy near,Is not one called Albano in the lot?Go eat your heart, you 'll never be a Pope!Inform me, is it true you left your love,A Pucci, for promotion in the church?She 's more than in the church—in the churchyard!Plautilla Pucci, your affianced bride,Has dust now in the eyes that held the love,—And Martinez, suppose they make you Pope,Stops that withveto,—so, enjoy yourself!I see you all reel to the rock, you waves—Some forthright, some describe a sinuous track,Some, crested brilliantly, with heads above,Some in a strangled swirl sunk who knows how,But all bound whither the main-current sets,Rockward, an end in foam for all of you!What if I be o'ertaken, pushed to the frontBy all you crowding smoother souls behind,And reach, a minute sooner than was meant,The boundary whereon I break to mist?Go to! the smoothest safest of you all,Most perfect and compact wave in my train,Spite of the blue tranquillity above,Spite of the breadth before of lapsing peace,Where broods the halcyon and the fish leaps free,Will presently begin to feel the prickAt lazy heart, the push at torpid brain,Will rock vertiginously in turn, and reel,And, emulative, rush to death like me.Later or sooner by a minute then,So much for the untimeliness of death!And, as regards the manner that offends,The rude and rough, I count the same for gain.Be the act harsh and quick! UndoubtedlyThe soul 's condensed and, twice itself, expandsTo burst through life, by alternation due,Into the other state whate'er it prove.You never know what life means till you die:Even throughout life, 't is death that makes life live,Gives it whatever the significance.For see, on your own ground and argument,Suppose life had no death to fear, how findA possibility of noblenessIn man, prevented daring any more?What 's love, what 's faith without a worst to dread?Lack-lustre jewelry! but faith and loveWith death behind them bidding do or die—Put such a foil at back, the sparkle 's born!From out myself how the strange colors come!Is there a new rule in another world?Be sure I shall resign myself: as hereI recognized no law I could not see,There, what I see, I shall acknowledge too:On earth I never took the Pope for God,In heaven I shall scarce take God for the Pope,Unmanned, remanned: I hold it probable—With something changeless at the heart of meTo know me by, some nucleus that 's myself:Accretions did it wrong? Away with them—You soon shall see the use of fire!
Come, I am tired of silence! Pause enough!
You have prayed: I have gone inside my soul
And shut its door behind me: 't is your torch
Makes the place dark: the darkness let alone
Grows tolerable twilight: one may grope
And get to guess at length and breadth and depth.
What is this fact I feel persuaded of—
This something like a foothold in the sea,
Although Saint Peter's bark scuds, billow-borne,
Leaves me to founder where it flung me first?
Spite of your splashing, I am high and dry!
God takes his own part in each thing he made;
Made for a reason, he conserves his work,
Gives each its proper instinct of defence.
My lamblike wife could neither bark nor bite,
She bleated, bleated, till for pity pure
The village roused up, ran with pole and prong
To the rescue, and behold the wolf 's at bay!
Shall he try bleating?—or take turn or two,
Since the wolf owns some kinship with the fox,
And, failing to escape the foe by craft,
Give up attempt, die fighting quietly?
The last bad blow that strikes fire in at eye
And on to brain, and so out, life and all,
How can it but be cheated of a pang
If, fighting quietly, the jaws enjoy
One re-embrace in mid backbone they break,
After their weary work through the foe's flesh?
That 's the wolf-nature. Don't mistake my trope!
A Cardinal so qualmish? Eminence,
My fight is figurative, blows i' the air,
Brain-war with powers and principalities,
Spirit-bravado, no real fisticuffs!
I shall not presently, when the knock comes,
Cling to this bench nor claw the hangman's face,
No, trust me! I conceive worse lots than mine.
Whether it be, the old contagious fit
And plague o' the prison have surprised me too,
The appropriate drunkenness of the death-hour
Crept on my sense, kind work o' the wine and myrrh,—
I know not,—I begin to taste my strength,
Careless, gay even. What's the worth of life?
The Pope 's dead now, my murderous old man,
For Tozzi told me so: and you, forsooth—
Why, you don't think, Abate, do your best,
You 'll live a year more with that hacking cough
And blotch of crimson where the cheek 's a pit?
Tozzi has got you also down in book!
Cardinal, only seventh of seventy near,
Is not one called Albano in the lot?
Go eat your heart, you 'll never be a Pope!
Inform me, is it true you left your love,
A Pucci, for promotion in the church?
She 's more than in the church—in the churchyard!
Plautilla Pucci, your affianced bride,
Has dust now in the eyes that held the love,—
And Martinez, suppose they make you Pope,
Stops that withveto,—so, enjoy yourself!
I see you all reel to the rock, you waves—
Some forthright, some describe a sinuous track,
Some, crested brilliantly, with heads above,
Some in a strangled swirl sunk who knows how,
But all bound whither the main-current sets,
Rockward, an end in foam for all of you!
What if I be o'ertaken, pushed to the front
By all you crowding smoother souls behind,
And reach, a minute sooner than was meant,
The boundary whereon I break to mist?
Go to! the smoothest safest of you all,
Most perfect and compact wave in my train,
Spite of the blue tranquillity above,
Spite of the breadth before of lapsing peace,
Where broods the halcyon and the fish leaps free,
Will presently begin to feel the prick
At lazy heart, the push at torpid brain,
Will rock vertiginously in turn, and reel,
And, emulative, rush to death like me.
Later or sooner by a minute then,
So much for the untimeliness of death!
And, as regards the manner that offends,
The rude and rough, I count the same for gain.
Be the act harsh and quick! Undoubtedly
The soul 's condensed and, twice itself, expands
To burst through life, by alternation due,
Into the other state whate'er it prove.
You never know what life means till you die:
Even throughout life, 't is death that makes life live,
Gives it whatever the significance.
For see, on your own ground and argument,
Suppose life had no death to fear, how find
A possibility of nobleness
In man, prevented daring any more?
What 's love, what 's faith without a worst to dread?
Lack-lustre jewelry! but faith and love
With death behind them bidding do or die—
Put such a foil at back, the sparkle 's born!
From out myself how the strange colors come!
Is there a new rule in another world?
Be sure I shall resign myself: as here
I recognized no law I could not see,
There, what I see, I shall acknowledge too:
On earth I never took the Pope for God,
In heaven I shall scarce take God for the Pope,
Unmanned, remanned: I hold it probable—
With something changeless at the heart of me
To know me by, some nucleus that 's myself:
Accretions did it wrong? Away with them—
You soon shall see the use of fire!
Till when,All that was, is; and must forever be.Nor is it in me to unhate my hates,—I use up my last strength to strike once moreOld Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face,To trample underfoot the whine and wileOf beast Violante,—and I grow one gorgeTo loathingly reject Pompilia's palePoison my hasty hunger took for food.A strong tree wants no wreaths about its trunk,No cloying-cups, no sickly sweet of scent,But sustenance at root, a bucketful.How else lived that Athenian who died so,Drinking hot bull's blood, fit for men like me?I lived and died a man, and take man's chance,Honest and bold: right will be done to such.
Till when,
All that was, is; and must forever be.
Nor is it in me to unhate my hates,—
I use up my last strength to strike once more
Old Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face,
To trample underfoot the whine and wile
Of beast Violante,—and I grow one gorge
To loathingly reject Pompilia's pale
Poison my hasty hunger took for food.
A strong tree wants no wreaths about its trunk,
No cloying-cups, no sickly sweet of scent,
But sustenance at root, a bucketful.
How else lived that Athenian who died so,
Drinking hot bull's blood, fit for men like me?
I lived and died a man, and take man's chance,
Honest and bold: right will be done to such.
Who are these you have let descend my stair?Ha, their accursed psalm! Lights at the sill!Is it "Open" they dare bid you? Treachery!Sirs, have I spoken one word all this whileOut of the world of words I had to say?Not one word! All was folly—I laughed and mocked!Sirs, my first true word, all truth and no lie,Is—save me notwithstanding! Life is all!I was just stark mad,—let the madman livePressed by as many chains as you please pile!Don't open! Hold me from them! I am yours,I am the Granduke's—no, I am the Pope's!Abate,—Cardinal,—Christ,—Maria,—God, ...Pompilia, will you let them murder me?
Who are these you have let descend my stair?
Ha, their accursed psalm! Lights at the sill!
Is it "Open" they dare bid you? Treachery!
Sirs, have I spoken one word all this while
Out of the world of words I had to say?
Not one word! All was folly—I laughed and mocked!
Sirs, my first true word, all truth and no lie,
Is—save me notwithstanding! Life is all!
I was just stark mad,—let the madman live
Pressed by as many chains as you please pile!
Don't open! Hold me from them! I am yours,
I am the Granduke's—no, I am the Pope's!
Abate,—Cardinal,—Christ,—Maria,—God, ...
Pompilia, will you let them murder me?