Matthew Arnold (1822–88). The Poems of Matthew Arnold, 1840–1867. 1909.
The Strayed Reveller, and Other PoemsA Modern Sappho
T
Nothing moves on the lawn but the quick lilac shade.
Far up gleams the house, and beneath flows the river.
Here lean, my head, on this cool balustrade.
Of dark elms come round, dropping down the proud stream;
Let me pause, let me strive, in myself find some order,
Ere their boat-music sound, ere their broider’d flags gleam.
Means parting? that only in absence lies pain?
It was well with me once if I saw him: to-morrow
May bring one of the old happy moments again.
She enter’d—that moment his eyes turn’d from me.
Fasten’d on her dark hair and her wreath of white heather—
As yesterday was, so to-morrow will be.
Their passion burn more, ere it ceases to burn:
They must love—while they must: But the hearts that love longer
Are rare: ah! most loves but flow once, and return.
I shall weep; but their love will be cooling: and he,
As he drifts to fatigue, discontent, and dejection,
Will be brought, thou poor heart! how much nearer to thee!
The strong band which beauty around him hath furl’d,
Disenchanted by habit, and newly awaking,
Looks languidly round on a gloom-buried world.
Perceive but a voice as I come to his side:
But deeper their voice grows, and nobler their bearing,
Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.
’Tis he! ’tis the boat, shooting round by the trees!
Let my turn, if it will come, be swift in arriving!
Ah! hope cannot long lighten torments like these.
World, have thy children yet bow’d at his knee?
Hast thou with myrtle-leaf crown’d him, O Pleasure?
Crown, crown him quickly, and leave him for me.