Then the Voice, “Welcome so to rate
“The arras-folds that variegate
“The earth, God’s antechamber, well!
“The wise, who waited there, could tell
“By these, what royalties in store
“Lay one step past the entrance-door.
“For whom, was reckoned, not too much,
“This life’s munificence? For such
“As thou,—a race, whereof scarce one
“Was able, in a million,
“To feel that any marvel lay
“In objects round his feet all day;
“Scarce one in many millions more,
“Willing, if able, to explore
“The secreter, minuter charm!
“—Brave souls, a fern-leaf could disarm
“Of power to cope with God’s intent,—
“Or scared if the south firmament
“With north-fire did its wings refledge!
“All partial beauty was a pledge
“Of beauty in its plenitude:
“But since the pledge sufficed thy mood,
“Retain it! plenitude be theirs
“Who looked above!”
At this answer “sharp despairs shot through” him, at the thought of what
he had missed; but on reflection he finds comfort in the prospect of the
possibilities of Art. Again the inexorable voice is heard, pronouncing
loss unspeakable. Even if he could be a Michelangelo (Buonarroti), it
would be only the initial earthly stage of his development that was
possible for him. (The whole passage is magnificent; but perhaps the
exquisitely wrought-out illustration of the lizard in its narrow
rock-chamber will be most enjoyed.)