Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Matthew Arnold. 18221888752. Philomela
HARK! ah, the Nightingale! | |
The tawny-throated! | |
Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst! | |
What triumph! hark—what pain! | |
O Wanderer from a Grecian shore, | 5 |
Still, after many years, in distant lands, | |
Still nourishing in thy bewilder’d brain | |
That wild, unquench’d, deep-sunken, old-world pain— | |
Say, will it never heal? | |
And can this fragrant lawn | 10 |
With its cool trees, and night, | |
And the sweet, tranquil Thames, | |
And moonshine, and the dew, | |
To thy rack’d heart and brain | |
Afford no balm? | 15 |
Dost thou to-night behold | |
Here, through the moonlight on this English grass, | |
The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild? | |
Dost thou again peruse | |
With hot cheeks and sear’d eyes | 20 |
The too clear web, and thy dumb Sister’s shame? | |
Dost thou once more assay | |
Thy flight, and feel come over thee, | |
Poor Fugitive, the feathery change | |
Once more, and once more seem to make resound | 25 |
With love and hate, triumph and agony, | |
Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale? | |
Listen, Eugenia— | |
How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves! | |
Again—thou hearest! | 30 |
Eternal Passion! | |
Eternal Pain! |