Let the world regard Saturn, the most wonderful
star in the heavens. My star shines for me alone.
The first and best of the series of _Bad Dreams_ gives us again in
Browning's last volume his doctrine of love. Love is its own reward:
it may be sad not to have love returned, but the one unspeakable
tragedy is to lose the capacity for loving. In a terrible dream, the
face of the woman changes from its familiar tenderness to a glance
of stony indifference, and in response to his agonised enquiry, she
declares that her love for him is absolutely dead. Then comes a
twofold bliss: one was in the mere waking from such desolation, but
the other consisted in the fact that even if the dream were true,
his love for her knew no diminution. Thank God, I loved on the same!
The most audacious poem of Browning's old age is _Summum Bonum_.
Since the dawn of human speculative thought, philosophers have asked
this question, What is the highest good? It has been answered in
various ways. Omar Khayyam said it was Wine: John Stuart Mill said
it was the greatest happiness of the greatest number: the Westminster
Catechism said it was to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.
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