was Herbert Spencer.
The form in which every truth manifests itself is partial and therefore
will pass, but the underlying truth, the absolute which unfolds itself
in form after form is eternal. Every manifestation in form, according to
Browning, however, has also its infinite value in relation to the truth
which is preserved through it.

XII

Of all the lamentable debts incurred
By Man through buying knowledge, this were worst:
That he should find his last gain prove his first
Was futile--merely nescience absolute,
Not knowledge in the bud which holds a fruit
Haply undreamed of in the soul's Spring-tide,
Pursed in the petals Summer opens wide,
And Autumn, withering, rounds to perfect ripe,--
Not this,--but ignorance, a blur to wipe
From human records, late it graced so much.
"Truth--this attainment? Ah, but such and such
Beliefs of yore seemed inexpugnable.

"When we attained them! E'en as they, so will
This their successor have the due morn, noon,
Evening and night--just as an old-world tune
Wears out and drops away, until who hears
Smilingly questions--'This it was brought tears
Once to all eyes,--this roused heart's rapture once?'
So will it be with truth that, for the nonce,
Styles itself truth perennial: 'ware its wile!
Knowledge turns nescience,--foremost on the file,
Simply proves first of our delusions."

XIII

Now--
Blare it forth, bold C Major! Lift thy brow,
Man, the immortal, that wast never fooled
With gifts no gifts at all, nor ridiculed--
Man knowing--he who nothing knew! As Hope,
Fear, Joy, and Grief,--though ampler stretch and scope
They seek and find in novel rhythm, fresh phrase,--
Were equally existent in far days
Of Music's dim beginning--even so,
Truth was at full within thee long ago,
Alive as now it takes what latest shape
May startle thee by strangeness. Truths escape
Time's insufficient garniture; they fade,
They fall--those sheathings now grown sere, whose aid
Was infinite to truth they wrapped, saved fine
And free through March frost: May dews crystalline
Nourish truth merely,--does June boast the fruit
As--not new vesture merely but, to boot,
Novel creation? Soon shall fade and fall
Myth after myth--the husk-like lies I call
New truth's corolla-safeguard: Autumn