4 min read
Слушать

The Trial by Existence

Even the bravest that are slain

     Shall not dissemble their surprise

On waking to find valor reign,

     Even as on earth, in paradise;

And where they sought without the sword

     Wide field of asphodel fore’er,

To find that the utmost reward

     Of daring should be still to dare. 


The light of heaven falls whole and white

     And is not shattered into dyes,

The light for ever is morning light;

     The hills are verdured pasture-wise;

The angel hosts with freshness go,

    And seek with laughter what to brave;—

And binding all is the hushed snow

     Of the far-distant breaking wave. 


And from a cliff-top is proclaimed

     The gathering of the souls for birth,

The trial by existence named,

     The obscuration upon earth.

And the slant spirits trooping by

     In streams and cross- and counter-streams

Can but give ear to that sweet cry

     For its suggestion of what dreams!


And the more loitering are turned 

     To view once more the sacrifice

Of those who for some good discerned

     Will gladly give up paradise.

And a white shimmering concourse rolls

     Toward the throne to witness there

The speeding of devoted souls

     Which God makes his especial care.


And none are taken but who will,

     Having first heard the life read out

That opens earthward, good and ill,

     Beyond the shadow of a doubt;

And very beautifully God limns,

     And tenderly, life’s little dream,

But naught extenuates or dims,

     Setting the thing that is supreme. 


Nor is there wanting in the press

     Some spirit to stand simply forth,

Heroic in its nakedness,

     Against the uttermost of earth.

The tale of earth’s unhonored things

     Sounds nobler there than ’neath the sun;

And the mind whirls and the heart sings,

     And a shout greets the daring one.


But always God speaks at the end:

     ‘One thought in agony of strife

The bravest would have by for friend,

     The memory that he chose the life;

But the pure fate to which you go

     Admits no memory of choice,

Or the woe were not earthly woe

     To which you give the assenting voice.’


And so the choice must be again,

     But the last choice is still the same;

And the awe passes wonder then,

     And a hush falls for all acclaim.

And God has taken a flower of gold

     And broken it, and used therefrom

The mystic link to bind and hold 

     Spirit to matter till death come.


’Tis of the essence of life here,

     Though we choose greatly, still to lack

The lasting memory at all clear,

     That life has for us on the wrack

Nothing but what we somehow chose;

     Thus are we wholly stripped of pride

In the pain that has but one close,

     Bearing it crushed and mystified. 

0
0
26
Give Award

Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published i…

Other author posts

Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments

Reading today

Ryfma
Ryfma is a social app for writers and readers. Publish books, stories, fanfics, poems and get paid for your work. The friendly and free way for fans to support your work for the price of a coffee
© 2024 Ryfma. All rights reserved 12+