Mesmerism
I
All I believed is true!
I am able yet
All I want, to get
By a method as strange as new:
Dare I trust the same to you?
II
If at night, when doors are shut,
And the wood-worm picks,
And the death-watch ticks,
And the bar has a flag of smut,
And a cat's in the water-butt-- . . . . . . 10
III
And the socket floats and flares,
And the house-beams groan,
And a foot unknown
Is surmised on the garret-stairs,
And the locks slip unawares--
IV
And the spider, to serve his ends,
By a sudden thread,
Arms and legs outspread,
On the table's midst descends,
Comes to find, God knows what friends!-- . . . . . . 20
V
If since eve drew in, I say,
I have sat and brought
(So to speak) my thought
To bear on the woman away,
Till I felt my hair turn grey--
VI
Till I seemed to have and hold,
In the vacancy
'Twixt the wall and me,
>From the hair-plait's chestnut gold
To the foot in its muslin fold-- . . . . . . 30
VII
Have and hold, then and there,
Her, from head to foot
Breathing and mute,
Passive and yet aware,
In the grasp of my steady stare--
VIII
Hold and have, there and then,
All her body and soul
That completes my whole,
All that women add to men,
In the clutch of my steady ken-- . . . . . . 40
IX
Having and holding, till
I imprint her fast
On the void at last
As the sun does whom he will
By the calotypist's skill--
X
Then,--if my heart's strength serve,
And through all and each
Of the veils I reach
To her soul and never swerve,
Knitting an iron nerve-- . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
XI
Command her soul to advance
And inform the shape
Which has made escape
And before my countenance
Answers me glance for glance--
XII
I, still with a gesture fit
Of my hands that best
Do my soul's behest,
Pointing the power from it,
While myself do steadfast sit-- . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
XIII
Steadfast and still the same
On my object bent,
While the hands give vent
To my ardour and my aim
And break into very flame--
XIV
Then I reach, I must believe,
Not her soul in vain,
For to me again
It reaches, and past retrieve
Is wound in the toils I weave; . . . . . . 70
XV
And must follow as I require,
As befits a thrall,
Bringing flesh and all,
Essence and earth-attire
To the source of the tractile fire:
XVI
Till the house called hers, not mine,
With a growing weight
Seems to suffocate
If she break not its leaden line
And escape from its close confine. . . . . . . 80
XVII
Out of doors into the night!
On to the maze
Of the wild wood-ways,
Not turning to left nor right
>From the pathway, blind with sight--
XVIII
Making thro' rain and wind
O'er the broken shrubs,
'Twixt the stems and stubs,
With a still, composed, strong mind,
Nor a care for the world behind-- . . . . . . 90
XIX
Swifter and still more swift,
As the crowding peace
Doth to joy increase
In the wide blind eyes uplift
Thro' the darkness and the drift!
XX
While I--to the shape, I too
Feel my soul dilate
Nor a whit abate,
And relax not a gesture due,
As I see my belief come true. . . . . . . 100
XXI
For, there! have I drawn or no
Life to that lip?
Do my fingers dip
In a flame which again they throw
On the cheek that breaks a-glow?
XXII
Ha! was the hair so first?
What, unfilleted,
Made alive, and spread
Through the void with a rich outburst,
Chestnut gold-interspersed? . . . . . . 110
XXIII
Like the doors of a casket-shrine,
See, on either side,
Her two arms divide
Till the heart betwixt makes sign,
Take me, for I am thine!
XXIV
"Now--now"--the door is heard!
Hark, the stairs! and near--
Nearer--and here--
"Now!" and at call the third
She enters without a word. . . . . . . 120
XXV
On doth she march and on
To the fancied shape;
It is, past escape,
Herself, now: the dream is done
And the shadow and she are one.
XXVI
First I will pray. Do Thou
That ownest the soul,
Yet wilt grant control
To another, nor disallow
For a time, restrain me now! . . . . . . 130
XXVII
I admonish me while I may,
Not to squander guilt,
Since require Thou wilt
At my hand its price one day!
What the price is, who can say?
NOTES:
"Mesmerism." With a continuous tension of will, whose
unbroken concentration impregnates the very structure of
the poem, a mesmerist describes the processes of the act
by which he summons shape and soul of the woman he
desires; and then reverent perception of the sacredness
of the soul awes him from trespassing upon another's
individuality.
-THE END-
Robert Browning's poem: Mesmerism
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