Page 753

Matthew Arnold. (1822–1888) (continued)

7476

    Strew on her roses, roses,
  And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
  Ah, would that I did too!

Requiescat.

7477

To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.

Growing old.

7478

Time may restore us in his course
Goethe’s sage mind and Byron’s force;
But where will Europe’s latter hour
Again find Wordsworth’s healing power?

Memorial Verses.

7479

Wandering between two worlds,—one dead,
The other powerless to be born.

Stanzas from the grande Chartreuse.

7480

The kings of modern thought are dumb.

Stanzas from the grande Chartreuse.

7481

    Calm Soul of all things! make it mine
  To feel, amid the city’s jar,
That there abides a place of thine,
  Man did not make, and can not mar.

Lines written in Kensington Gardens.

7482

    We, in some unknown Power’s employ,
  Move on a rigorous line;
Can neither, when we will, enjoy,
  Nor, when we will, resign.

Stanzas in Memory of the Author of “Obermann.”

7483

And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Dover Beach.

7484

    With aching hands and bleeding feet
  We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
  Of the long day and wish ’t were done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern.

Morality.

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