Browning Decides To Be A Poet

 in these red labyrinths of London
I find that I have chosen
the strangest of all callings,
save that, in its way, any calling is strange.

Like the alchemist
who sought the philosopher's stone
in quicksilver,
I shall make everyday words--
the gambler's marked cards, the common coin--
give off the magic that was their
when Thor was both the god and the din,
the thunderclap and the prayer.

In today's dialect
I shall say, in my fashion, eternal things:
I shall try to be worthy
of the great echo of Byron.

This dust that I am will be invulnerable.

If a woman shares my love
my verse will touch the tenth sphere of the concentric heavens;
if a woman turns my love aside
I will make of my sadness a music,
a full river to resound through time.

I shall live by forgetting myself.

I shall be the face I glimpse and forget,
I shall be Judas who takes on
the divine mission of being a betrayer,
I shall be Caliban in his bog,
I shall be a mercenary who dies
without fear and without faith,
I shall be Polycrates, who looks in awe
upon the seal returned by fate.

I will be the friend who hates me.

The persian will give me the nightingale, and Rome the sword.

Masks, agonies, resurrections
will weave and unweave my life,
and in time I shall be Robert Browning.

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