"Come with me," he cries to her, "come out of the world into natural beauty"; and there follows a noble description of a lovely country into which he passes from a mountain glen--morning, noon, afternoon and evening all described--and the emotion of the whole rises till it reaches the topmost height of eagerness and joy, when, suddenly, the whole fire is extinguished-- I am concentrated--I feel; But my soul saddens when it looks beyond: I cannot be immortal, taste all joy.
O God, where do they tend--these struggling aims?
What would I have?
What is this "sleep" which seems To bound all?
Can there be a "waking" point Of crowning life?
* * * And what is that I hunger for but God?
So, having worked towards perfection, having realised that he cannot have it here, he sees at last that the failures of earth are a prophecy of a perfection to come.

He claims the infinite beyond.

"I believe," he cries, "in God and truth and love.

Know my last state is happy, free from doubt or touch of fear." That is Browning all over.

These are the motives of a crowd of poems, varied through a crowd of examples; never better shaped than in the trenchant and magnificent end of _Easter-Day_, where the questions and answers are like the flashing and clashing of sharp scimitars.