Brownings Prospice and PIppa read by Jeremy Irons and Rupert Evans - British Library

I am having a literary week. Sunday, the splendid Alfred Molina gave an inspired and gorgeous reading of "Nipple Jesus" by Nick Hornsby (You can read the story in his newest book of short stories). What an actor. We even had a nice chat at the intermission. And,he's a lovely person to boot! The reading was at the Shoreditch Soho House to raise money for a fantastic group that helps at risk youth in England's most violent neighborhoods. Tuesday at the British Museum, Jeremy Irons, Charles Dance and the lovely Rupert Evans read the poems of Robert Browning to raise money for the literacy group Poetry Hour. Jeremy Irons is in the words of Dickens in "Pickwick Papers" "Charming, Charming, charming." Included in Irons readings the stunning poem about death, "Prospice." Rupert read my favorite, the song from "Pippa Passes."

Prospice- browning
Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form;
Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall,
Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that Death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,
And made me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,
The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave.
The black minute's at end,
And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain.
Then a light, then thy breat,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!

Song from PIPPA PASSES (set by Ned Rorem)
Robert Browning

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!