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 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
Once I saw a chemist take a pinch of powder
—Simple dust it seemed—and half-unstop a phial.
—Outdropped harmless dew. “Mixed nothings make”—quoth he—
“Something!” So they did: a thunderclap, but louder—
Lightning-flash, but fiercer—put spectators' nerves to trial:
Sure enough, we learned what was, imagined what might be.
Had I no experience how a lip's mere tremble,
Look's half hesitation, cheek's just change of colour,
These effect a heartquake,—how should I conceive
What a heaven there may be? Let it but resemble
Earth myself have known! No bliss that's finer, fuller,
Only—bliss that lasts, they say, and fain would I believe.
—Simple dust it seemed—and half-unstop a phial.
—Outdropped harmless dew. “Mixed nothings make”—quoth he—
“Something!” So they did: a thunderclap, but louder—
Lightning-flash, but fiercer—put spectators' nerves to trial:
Sure enough, we learned what was, imagined what might be.
52
Look's half hesitation, cheek's just change of colour,
These effect a heartquake,—how should I conceive
What a heaven there may be? Let it but resemble
Earth myself have known! No bliss that's finer, fuller,
Only—bliss that lasts, they say, and fain would I believe.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |