A Sequence of Sonnets on the Death of Robert Browning

I1.
      The clearest eyes in all the world they read
.
         With sense more keen and spirit of sight more true
.
         Than burns and thrills in sunrise, when the dew
.
     Flames, and absorbs the glory round it shed,
.
     As they the light of ages quick and dead,
.
         Closed now, forsake us: yet the shaft that slew
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         Can slay not one of all the works we knew,
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     Nor death discrown that many-laurelled head.
.
     The works of words whose life seems lightning wrought,
.

   And moulded of unconquerable thought,
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       And quickened with imperishable flame,
.

   Stand fast and shine and smile, assured that nought
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       May fade of all their myriad-moulded fame,
.

       Nor England's memory clasp not Browning's name.[Composition Date:] December 13, 1889.II2.
    Death, what hast thou to do with one for whom
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        Time is not lord, but servant? What least part
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        Of all the fire that fed his living heart,
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    Of all the light more keen that sundawn's bloom
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    That lit and led his spirit, strong as doom
.
        And bright as hope, can aught thy breath may dart
.
        Quench? Nay, thou knowest he knew thee what thou art,
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    A shadow born of terror's barren womb,
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    That brings not forth save shadows. What art thou,
.

   To dream, albeit thou breathe upon his brow,
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       That power on him is given thee,--that thy breath
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   Can make him less than love acclaims him now,
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       And hears all time sound back the word it saith?
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       What part hast thou then in his glory, Death?III3.
    A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieve:
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        Venice and winter, hand in deadly hand,
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        Have slain the lover of her sunbright strand
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    And singer of a stormbright Christmas Eve.
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    A graceless guerdon we that loved receive
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        For all our love, from that the dearest land
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        Love worshipped ever. Blithe and soft and bland,
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    Too fair for storm to scathe or fire to cleave,
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    Shone on our dreams and memories evermore
.

   The domes, the towers, the mountains and the shore
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       That gird or guard thee, Venice: cold and black
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   Seems now the face we loved as he of yore.
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       We have given thee love--no stint, no stay, no lack:
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       What gift, what gift is this thou hast given us back?IV4.
    But he--to him, who knows what gift is thine,
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        Death? Hardly may we think or hope, when we
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        Pass likewise thither where to-night is he,
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    Beyond the irremeable outer seas that shine
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    And darken round such dreams as half divine
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        Some sunlit harbour in that starless sea
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        Where gleams no ship to windward or to lee,
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    To read with him the secret of thy shrine.4.
    There too, as here, may song, delight, and love,
.

   The nightingale, the sea-bird, and the dove,
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       Fulfil with joy the splendour of the sky
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   Till all beneath wax bright as all above:
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       But none of all that search the heavens, and try
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       The sun, may match the sovereign eagle's eye.[Composition Date:]  December 14[, 1889]
V5.
    Among the wondrous ways of men and time
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        He went as one that ever found and sought
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        And bore in hand the lamp-like spirit of thought
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     To illume with instance of its fire sublime
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    The dusk of many a cloud-like age and clime.
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        No spirit in shape of light and darkness wrought,
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        No faith, no fear, no dream, no rapture, nought
.
    That blooms in wisdom, naught that burns in crime,
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    No virtue girt and armed and helmed with light,
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   No love more lovely than the snows are white,
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       No serpent sleeping in some dead soul's tomb,
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   No song-bird singing from some live soul's height,
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       But he might hear, interpret, or illume
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       With sense invasive as the dawn of doom.VI6.
    What secret thing of splendour or of shade
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        Surmised in all those wandering ways wherein
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        Man, led of love and life and death and sin,
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    Strays, climbs, or cowers, allured, absorbed, afraid,
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    Might not the strong and sun-like sense invade
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