Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: ROBERT BROWNING Doubt kindling nobler doubt, faith quelling faith, Forms flung to revolution, creeds to rack, Old cities of dead empires put to sack, Love founding lordlier kingdoms in the future's track! So, Rabbi, to our question, if you please: Is sailing thus—to cease? The ghosts demur; For, in the nudging vault, I hear one say: "Browning, the poet, who has passed away, This is his sepulcher." Once a dawn-shaft from God's quiver Struck my soul, and from its embers Flashed a star of song forever. Then the dawn passed. Who remembers? Not remember Pippa?—Pippa who, at sun-up, Rose in her bare attic, while the east boiled gold! With her rising, see, the morning roses run up Clambering live and warm, concealing the night-mold. Pippa, she who sang till little Asolo Widened out its walls—like arms, that reach in pity To nestle lonely things that yearn for love—till, lo; Vines of Asolo enwall the heavenly city! Pippa, she was Luigi, Ottima was Pippa, Mighty Monsignor, chafer, bee, and weevil ; Life redeemed from listlessness, innocence from evil, Like the cinder-girl that wore the crystal slipper. Well, well, Rabbi, so Now, as long ago, Even thoughts of Pippa Lilt another music, breathe an afterglow. What, then! Will they say She, that passed in song, she, too has passed away? Trust me: as I used to sit and ponder, Songs, songs, songs she sang me, winged of wonder, Flitting sunward, till they quite forsook— Like happy birds from open cages— My black-barred pages. But shyly three and four, with slantwise wing, Dartled from heaven back, and hovering Around my head, Sung my dear earth instead, Then nested down, beaks spilling, in my book, Splashing its margin with God's meadow... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.