Matthew Arnold (1822–88). The Poems of Matthew Arnold, 1840–1867. 1909.
Empedocles on Etna, and Other PoemsConsolation
M
Smoky dwarf houses
Hem me round everywhere.
A vague dejection
Weighs down my soul.
Everywhere, countless
Prospects unroll themselves,
And countless beings
Pass countless moods.
On the smooth convent-roofs,
On the gold terraces
Of holy Lassa,
Bright shines the sun.
Hold the pure Muses.
In their cool gallery,
By yellow Tiber,
They still look fair.
Shrills round their portal.
Yet not on Helicon
Kept they more cloudless
Their noble calm.
In a lone, sand-hemm’d
City of Africa,
A blind, led beggar,
Age-bow’d, asks alms.
Erst abode ambush’d
Deep in the sandy waste:
No clearer eyesight
Spied prey afar.
Sear’d his keen eyeballs.
Spent is the spoil he won.
For him the present
Holds only pain.
Where the warm June wind,
Fresh from the summer fields,
Plays fondly round them,
Stand, tranc’d in joy.
And with eyes brimming—
‘Ah,’ they cry, ‘Destiny!
Prolong the present!
Time! stand still here!’
Shakes her head, frowning.
Time gives his hour-glass
Its due reversal.
Their hour is gone.
Did the just Goddess
Lengthen their happiness,
She lengthen’d also
Distress elsewhere.
Unalloy’d moments
I would eternalize,
Ten thousand mourners
Well pleas’d see end.
Whose severe moments
I would annihilate,
Is pass’d by others
In warmth, light, joy.
Who to no one man
Shows partiality,
Brings round to all men
Some undimm’d hours.