Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (270 page)

Shakespeare

Matthew Arnold (1822–1888)

OTHERS abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask: Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill
That to the stars uncrowns his majesty,
Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,
  
5
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,
Spares but the cloudy border of his base
To the foil’d searching of mortality;
And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know,
Self-school’d, self-scann’d, self-honour’d, self-secure,
  
10
Didst walk on earth unguess’d at. Better so!
All pains the immortal spirit must endure,
 
All weakness that impairs, all griefs that bow,
 
Find their sole voice in that victorious brow.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

Rugby Chapel

November, 1857

Matthew Arnold (1822–1888)

COLDLY, sadly descends
The autumn-evening. The field
Strewn with its dank yellow drifts
Of wither’d leaves, and the elms,
Fade into dimness apace,
  
5
Silent; — hardly a shout
From a few boys late at their play!
The lights come out in the street,
In the school-room windows; — but cold,
Solemn, unlighted, austere,
  
10
Through the gathering darkness, arise
The chapel-walls, in whose bound
Thou, my father! art laid.

There thou dost lie, in the gloom
Of the autumn evening. But ah!
  
15
That word,
gloom,
to my mind
Brings thee back, in the light
Of thy radiant vigor, again;
In the gloom of November we pass’d
Days not dark at thy side;
  
20
Seasons impair’d not the ray
Of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear.
Such thou wast! and I stand
In the autumn evening and think
Of bygone autumns with thee.
  
25

Fifteen years have gone round
Since thou arosest to tread,
In the summer-morning, the road
Of death, at a call unforeseen,
Sudden. For fifteen years,
  
30
We who till then in thy shade
Rested as under the boughs
Of a mighty oak, have endured
Sunshine and rain as we might,
Bare, unshaded, alone,
  
35
Lacking the shelter of thee.

O strong soul, by what shore
Tarriest thou now? For that force,
Surely, has not been left vain!
Somewhere, surely, afar,
  
40
In the sounding labor-house vast
Of being, is practised that strength,
Zealous, beneficent, firm!

Yes, in some far-shining sphere,
Conscious or not of the past,
  
45
Still thou performest the word
Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live —
Prompt, unwearied, as here!
Still thou upraisest with zeal
The humble good from the ground,
  
50
Sternly repressest the bad!
Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse
Those who with half-open eyes
Tread the border-land dim
Twixt vice and virtue; reviv’st,
  
55
Succorest! — this was thy work;
This was thy life upon earth.

What is the course of the life
Of mortal men on the earth? —
Most men eddy about
  
60
Here and there — eat and drink,
Chatter and love and hate,
Gather and squander, are raised
Aloft, are hurl’d in the dust,
Striving blindly, achieving
  
65
Nothing; and then they die —
Perish; — and no one asks
Who or what they have been,
More than he asks what waves,
In the moonlit solitudes mild
  
70
Of the midmost Ocean, have swell’d,
Foam’d for a moment, and gone.

And there are some, whom a thirst
Ardent, unquenchable, fires,
Not with the crowd to be spent,
  
75
Not without aim to go round
In an eddy of purposeless dust,
Effort unmeaning and vain.
Ah yes! some of us strive
Not without action to die
 
 
80
Fruitless, but something to snatch
From dull oblivion, nor all
Glut the devouring grave!
We, we have chosen our path —
Path to a clear-purposed goal,
  
85
Path of advance! — but it leads
A long, steep journey, through sunk
Gorges, o’er mountains in snow.
Cheerful, with friends, we set forth —
Then on the height, comes the storm.
  
90
Thunder crashes from rock
To rock, the cataracts reply,
Lightnings dazzle our eyes.
Roaring torrents have breach’d
The track, the stream-bed descends
  
95
In the place where the wayfarer once
Planted his footstep — the spray
Boils o’er its borders! aloft
The unseen snow-beds dislodge
Their hanging ruin; alas,
  
100
Havoc is made in our train!
Friends who set forth at our side,
Falter, are lost in the storm.
We, we only are left!
With frowning foreheads, with lips
  
105
Sternly compress’d, we strain on,
On — and at nightfall at last
Come to the end of our way,
To the lonely inn ‘mid the rocks;
Where the gaunt and taciturn host
  
110
Stands on the threshold, the wind
Shaking his thin white hairs —
Holds his lantern to scan
Our storm-beat figures, and asks:
Whom in our party we bring?
  
115
Whom we have left in the snow?

Sadly we answer: We bring
Only ourselves! we lost
Sight of the rest in the storm.
Hardly ourselves we fought through,
  
120
Stripp’d, without friends, as we are.
Friends, companions, and train,
The avalanche swept from our side.

But thou would’st not
alone
Be saved, my father!
alone
  
125
Conquer and come to thy goal,
Leaving the rest in the wild.
We were weary, and we
Fearful, and we in our march
Fain to drop down and to die.
  
130
Still thou turnedst, and still
Beckonedst the trembler, and still
Gavest the weary thy hand.

If, in the paths of the world,
Stones might have wounded thy feet,
  
135
Toil or dejection have tried
Thy spirit, of that we saw
Nothing — to us thou wast still
Cheerful, and helpful, and firm!
Therefore to thee it was given
  
140
Many to save with thyself;
And, at the end of thy day,
O faithful shepherd! to come,
Bringing thy sheep in thy hand.

And through thee I believe
  
145
In the noble and great who are gone;
Pure souls honor’d and blest
By former ages, who else —
Such, so soulless, so poor,
Is the race of men whom I see —
150
Seem’d but a dream of the heart,
Seem’d but a cry of desire.
Yes! I believe that there lived
Others like thee in the past,
Not like the men of the crowd
  
155
Who all round me to-day
Bluster or cringe, and make life
Hideous, and arid, and vile;
But souls temper’d with fire,
Fervent, heroic, and good,
  
160
Helpers and friends of mankind.

Servants of God! — or sons
Shall I not call you? because
Not as servants ye knew
Your Father’s innermost mind,
  
165
His, who unwillingly sees
One of his little ones lost —
Yours is the praise, if mankind
Hath not as yet in its march
Fainted, and fallen, and died!
  
170

See! In the rocks of the world
Marches the host of mankind,
A feeble, wavering line.
Where are they tending? — A God
Marshall’d them, gave them their goal.
  
175
Ah, but the way is so long!
Years they have been in the wild!
Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks,
Rising all round, overawe;
Factions divide them, their host
  
180
Threatens to break, to dissolve.
 
— Ah, keep, keep them combined!
Else, of the myriads who fill
That army, not one shall arrive;
Sole they shall stray; in the rocks
  
185
Stagger for ever in vain.
Die one by one in the waste.

Then, in such hour of need
Of your fainting, dispirited race
Ye, like angels, appear,
  
190
Radiant with ardor divine!
Beacons of hope, ye appear!
Languor is not in your heart,
Weakness is not in your word,
Weariness not on your brow.
  
195
Ye alight in our van! at your voice,
Panic, despair, flee away.
Ye move through the ranks, recall
The stragglers, refresh the outworn,
Praise, re-inspire the brave!
  
200
Order, courage, return;
Eyes rekindling, and prayers,
Follow your steps as ye go.
Ye fill up the gaps in our files,
Strengthen the wavering line,
  
205
Stablish, continue our march,
On, to the bound of the waste,
On, to the City of God.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

Memorial Verses

April, 1850

Matthew Arnold (1822–1888)

GOETHE in Weimar sleeps, and Greece,
Long since, saw Byron’s struggle cease.
But one such death remain’d to come;
The last poetic voice is dumb —
We stand to-day by Wordsworth’s tomb.
  
5

When Byron’s eyes were shut in death,
We bow’d our head and held our breath.
He taught us little; but our soul
Had
felt
him like the thunder’s roll.

With shivering heart the strife we saw
  
10
Of passion with eternal law;
And yet with reverential awe
We watch’d the fount of fiery life
Which served for that Titanic strife.

When Goethe’s death was told, we said:
  
15
Sunk, then, is Europe’s sagest head.
Physician of the iron age,
Goethe has done his pilgrimage.
He took the suffering human race,
He read each wound, each weakness clear;
  
20
And struck his finger on the place,
And said:
Thou ailest here, and here!
He look’d on Europe’s dying hour
Of fitful dream and feverish power;
His eye plunged down the weltering strife,
  
25
The turmoil of expiring life —
He said:
The end is everywhere,
Art still has truth, take refuge there!
And he was happy, if to know
Causes of things, and far below
  
30
His feet to see the lurid flow
Of terror, and insane distress,
And headlong fate, be happiness.

And Wordsworth! — Ah, pale ghosts, rejoice!
For never has such soothing voice
  
35
Been to your shadowy world convey’d,
Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade
Heard the clear song of Orpheus come
Through Hades, and the mournful gloom.
Wordsworth has gone from us — and ye,
  
40
Ah, may ye feel his voice as we!
He too upon a wintry clime
Had fallen — on this iron time
Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears.
He found us when the age had bound
  
45
Our souls in its benumbing round;
He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears.

He laid us as we lay at birth
On the cool flowery lap of earth,
Smiles broke from us and we had ease;
  
50
The hills were round us, and the breeze
Went o’er the sun-lit fields again;
Our foreheads felt the wind and rain.
Our youth returned; for there was shed
On spirits that had long been dead,
  
55
Spirits dried up and closely furl’d,
The freshness of the early world.

Ah! since dark days still bring to light
Man’s prudence and man’s fiery might,
Time may restore us in his course
  
60
Goethe’s sage mind and Byron’s force;
But where will Europe’s latter hour
Again find Wordsworth’s healing power?
Others will teach us how to dare,
And against fear our breast to steel;
  
65
Others will strengthen us to bear —
But who, ah! who, will make us feel?
The cloud of mortal destiny,
Others will front it fearlessly —
But who, like him, will put it by?
  
70

Keep fresh the grass upon his grave
O Rotha, with thy living wave!
Sing him thy best! for few or none
Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order