Analysis of From ‘Paracelsus’
Robert Browning 1812 (Camberwell) – 1889 (Venice)
TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate’er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fullness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception—which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
Binds it, and makes all error: and, to KNOW,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed,
Uncomprehended by our narrow thought,
But somehow felt and known in every shift
And change in the spirit,—nay, in every pore
Of the body, even,)—what God is, what we are
What life is—how God tastes an infinite joy
In infinite ways—one everlasting bliss,
From whom all being emanates, all power
Proceeds; in whom is life for evermore,
Yet whom existence in its lowest form
Includes; where dwells enjoyment there is he:
With still a flying point of bliss remote,
A happiness in store afar, a sphere
Of distant glory in full view; thus climbs
Pleasure its heights for ever and for ever.
The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth,
And the earth changes like a human face;
The molten ore bursts up among the rocks,
Winds into the stone’s heart, outbranches bright
In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds,
Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask—
God joys therein! The wroth sea’s waves are edged
With foam, white as the bitten lip of hate,
When, in the solitary waste, strange groups
Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like,
Staring together with their eyes on flame—
God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride.
Then all is still; earth is a wintry clod:
But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes
Over its breast to waken it, rare verdure
Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between
The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost,
Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face;
The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms
Like chrysalids impatient for the air,
The shining dorrs are busy, beetles run
Along the furrows, ants make their ade;
Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark
Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;
Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing-gulls
Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe
Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek
Their loves in wood and plain—and God renews
His ancient rapture. Thus He dwells in all,
From life’s minute beginnings, up at last
To man—the consummation of this scheme
Of being, the completion of this sphere
Of life: whose attributes had here and there
Been scattered o’er the visible world before,
Asking to be combined, dim fragments meant
To be united in some wondrous whole,
Imperfect qualities throughout creation,
Suggesting some one creature yet to make,
Some point where all those scattered rays should meet
Convergent in the faculties of man.
Scheme | XXABXXXXXXCX BXXDXEXFDXXXGXFXHXCXXXXXXXXBXDXXHXIJXXEXXXXAXXGIDXXJXXX |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11010011111 110111101 111110011 1101010001 1011011110 1011010111 01000010101 1101110011 10010100101 100101101 1001010101 011101 11110101 1110101 1110101001 010010101001 101010111111 11111111001 0100110101 11110100110 010111110 1101001101 0111010111 1101011101 0100010101 1101001111 10111100110 0101010101 0011010101 0101110101 10101111 0101110101 100111111 1101011111 1111010111 100100111 110101111 1001011111 1101001111 1111110101 1111010110 1011110111 1100011101 0101100111 1011010101 0111011111 11010101 0101110101 01011111 0111010101 11011001101 0101011101 1101110111 1101010101 1101010101 1101011101 1110010111 110010111 1100010111 111101101 11010100101 1011011101 1101001101 01010001010 0101110111 1111110111 0100010011 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 3,053 |
Words | 490 |
Sentences | 9 |
Stanzas | 2 |
Stanza Lengths | 12, 55 |
Lines Amount | 67 |
Letters per line (avg) | 34 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 1,136 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 242 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 26, 2023
- 2:27 min read
- 328 Views
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"From ‘Paracelsus’" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/30350/from-%E2%80%98paracelsus%E2%80%99>.
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