Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SOUNDS, by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Hearken, hearken! / the rapid river carrieth Last Line: And not the voice of god? Subject(s): Sound | ||||||||
I HEARKEN, hearken! The rapid river carrieth Many noises underneath The hoary ocean: Teaching his solemnity Sounds of inland life and glee Learnt beside the waving tree When the winds in summer prank Toss the shades from bank to bank, And the quick rains, in emotion Which rather gladdens earth than grieves, Count and visibly rehearse The pulses of the universe Upon the summer leaves -- Learnt among the lilies straight When they bow them to the weight Of many bees whose hidden hum Seemeth from themselves to come -- Learnt among the grasses green Where the rustling mice are seen By the gleaming, as they run, Of their quick eyes in the sun; And lazy sheep are browsing through With their noses trailed in dew; And the squirrel leaps adown Holding fast the filbert brown; And the lark, with more of mirth In his song than suits the earth, Droppeth some in soaring high, To pour the rest out in the sky; While the woodland doves apart In the copse's leafy heart, Solitary, not ascetic, Hidden and yet vocal, seem Joining, in a lovely psalm, Man's despondence, nature's calm, Half mystical and half pathetic, Like a singing in a dream. All these sounds the river telleth, Softened to an undertone Which ever and anon he swelleth By a burden of his own, In the ocean's ear: Ay, and ocean seems to hear With an inward gentle scorn, Smiling to his caverns worn. II Hearken, hearken! The child is shouting at his play Just in the tramping funeral's way; The widow moans as she turns aside To shun the face of the blushing bride While, shaking the tower of the ancient church, The marriage bells do swing; And in the shadow of the porch An idiot sits with his lean hands full Of hedgerow flowers and a poet's skull, Laughing loud and gibbering Because it is so brown a thing, While he sticketh the gaudy poppies red In and out the senseless head Where all sweet fancies grew instead: And you may hear at the self-same time Another poet who reads his rhyme, Low as a brook in summer air, Save when he droppeth his voice adown To dream of the amaranthine crown His mortal brows shall wear: And a baby cries with a feeble sound 'Neath the weary weight of the life newfound, And an old man groans, -- with his testament Only half-signed, -- for the life that's spent; And lovers twain do softly say, As they sit on a grave, 'For aye, for aye!' And foemen twain, while Earth their mother Looks greenly upward, curse each other; A school-boy drones his task, with looks Cast over the page to the elm-tree rooks: A lonely student cries aloud Eureka! clasping at his shroud; A beldame's age-cracked voice doth sing To a little infant slumbering; A maid forgotten weeps alone, Muffling her sobs on the trysting-stone; A sick man wakes at his own mouth's wail, A gossip coughs in her thrice-told tale, A muttering gamester shakes the dice, A reaper foretells goodluck from the skies, A monarch vows as he lifts his band to them; A patriot, leaving his native land to them, Cries to the world against perjured state; A priest disserts Upon linen skirts, A sinner screams for one hope more, A dancer's feet do palpitate A piper's music out on the floor; And nigh to the awful Dead, the living Low speech and stealthy steps are giving, Because he cannot hear; And he who on that narrow bier Has room enough, is closely wound In a silence piercing more than sound. III Hearken, hearken! God speaketh to thy soul, Using the supreme voice which doth confound All life with consciousness of Deity, All senses into one, -- As the seer-saint of Patmos, loving John (For whom did backward roll The cloud-gate of the future) turned to see The Voice which spake. It speaketh now, Through the regular breath of the calm creation, Through the moan of the creature's desolation Striking, and in its stroke resembling The memory of a solemn vow Which pierceth the din of a festival To one in the midst, -- and he letteth fall The cup with a sudden trembling. IV Hearken, hearken! God speaketh in thy soul, Saying, 'O thou that movest With feeble steps across this earth of Mine, To break beside the fount thy golden bowl And spill its purple wine, -- Look up to heaven and see how, like a scroll, My right hand hath thine immortality In an eternal grasping! thou, that lovest The songful birds and grasses underfoot, And also what change mars and tombs pollute -- I am the end of love! give love to Me! O thou that sinnest, grace doth more abound Than all thy sin! sit still beneath My rood, And count the droppings of My victim-blood, And seek none other sound!' V Hearken, hearken! Shall we hear the lapsing river And our brother's sighing ever, And not the voice of God? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SOUND IS LIKE ANY OTHER by DAVID IGNATOW NATURAL MUSIC by ROBINSON JEFFERS CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE WHAT THE MOTORCYCLE SAID by MONA VAN DUYN THE LIFE OF TOWNS: TOWN OF THE DRAGON VEIN by ANNE CARSON CALIBAN [ON THE ISLAND], FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |
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