 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII, IX, X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
 | XIII. |
|
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
218
XIV.
Let things be—not seem,I counsel rather,—do, and nowise dream!
Earth's young significance is all to learn:
The dead Greek lore lies buried in the urn
Where who seeks fire finds ashes. Ghost, forsooth!
What was the best Greece babbled of as truth?
“A shade, a wretched nothing,—sad, thin, drear,
Cold, dark, it holds on to the lost loves here,
If hand have haply sprinkled o'er the dead
Three charitable dust-heaps, made mouth red
One moment by the sip of sacrifice:
Just so much comfort thaws the stubborn ice
Slow-thickening upward till it choke at length
The last faint flutter craving—not for strength,
Not beauty, not the riches and the rule
O'er men that made life life indeed.” Sad school
Was Hades! Gladly,—might the dead but slink
To life, back,—to the dregs once more would drink
Each interloper, drain the humblest cup
Fate mixes for humanity.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |