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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116313" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>"Transcendentalism: A Poem in Twelve Books"</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stop playing, poet! May a brother speak?<br>'T is you speak, that's your error. Song's our art:<br>Whereas you please to speak these naked thoughts<br>Instead of draping them in sights and sounds.<br>—True thoughts, good thoughts, thoughts fit to treasure up!<br>But why such long prolusion and display,<br>Such turning and adjustment of the harp,<br>And taking it upon your breast, at length,<br>Only to speak dry words across its strings?<br>Stark-naked thought is in request enough:<br>Speak prose and hollo it till Europe hears!<br>The six-foot Swiss tube, braced about with bark,<br>Which helps the hunter's voice from Alp to Alp—<br>Exchange our harp for that,—who hinders you?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But here's your fault; grown men want thought, you think;<br>Thought's what they mean by verse, and seek in verse.<br>Boys seek for images and melody,<br>Men must have reason—so, you aim at men.<br>Quite otherwise! Objects throng our youth, 't is true;<br>We see and hear and do not wonder much:<br>If you could tell us what they mean, indeed!<br>As German Boehme never cared for plants<br>Until it happed, a-walking in the fields,<br>He noticed all at once that plants could speak,<br>Nay, turned with loosened tongue to talk with him.<br>That day the daisy had an eye indeed—<br>Colloquized with the cowslip on such themes!<br>We find them extant yet in Jacob's prose.<br>But by the time youth slips a stage or two<br>While reading prose in that tough book he wrote<br>(Collating and emendating the same<br>And settling on the sense most to our mind),<br>We shut the clasps and find life's summer past.<br>Then, who helps more, pray, to repair our loss—<br>Another Boehme with a tougher book<br>And subtler meanings of what roses say—<br>Or some stout Mage like him of Halberstadt,<br>John, who made things Boehme wrote thoughts about?<br>He with a "look you!" vents a brace of rhymes,<br>And in there breaks the sudden rose herself,<br>Over us, under, round us every side,<br>Nay, in and out the tables and the chairs<br>And musty volumes, Boehme's book and all—<br>Buries us with a glory, young once more,<br>Pouring heaven into this shut house of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So come, the harp back to your heart again!<br>You are a poem, though your poem's naught.<br>The best of all you showed before, believe,<br>Was your own boy-face o'er the finer chords<br>Bent, following the cherub at the top<br>That points to God with his paired half-moon wings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Browning">Robert Browning</a> from <i>Men and Women</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116313" data-title=""Transcendentalism: A Poem in Twelve Books" de Robert Browning" data-description="Stop playing, poet! May a brother speak?/'T is you speak, that's your error. Song's our art:/Whereas you please to speak these naked thoughts/Instead of draping them in sights and sounds./—True thoughts, good thoughts, thoughts fit to treasure u..."></div>
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