Read more poems by Matthew Arnold: Matthew Arnold Poems at Poetry X.
Mist clogs the sunshine. Smoky dwarf houses Hem me round everywhere; A vague dejection Weighs down my soul. Yet, while I languish, Everywhere countless Prospects unroll themselves, And countless beings Pass countless moods. Far hence, in Asia, On the smooth convent-roofs, On the gilt terraces, Of holy Lassa, Bright shines the sun. Grey time-worn marbles Hold the pure Muses; In their cool gallery, By yellow Tiber, They still look fair. Strange unloved uproar Shrills round their portal; Yet not on Helicon Kept they more cloudless Their noble calm. Through sun-proof alleys In a lone, sand-hemmed City of Africa, A blind, led beggar, Age-bowed, asks alms. No bolder robber Erst abode ambushed Deep in the sandy waste; No clearer eyesight Spied prey afar. Saharan sand-winds Seared his keen eyeballs; Spent is the spoil he won. For him the present Holds only pain. Two young fair lovers, Where the warm June-wind, Fresh from the summer fields, Plays fondly round them, Stand, tranced in joy. With sweet joined voices, And with eyes brimming: "Ah," they cry "Destiny, Prolong the present! Time, stand still here!" The prompt stern Goddess Shakes her head, frowning; Time gives his hour-glass Its due reversal; Their hour is gone. With weak indulgence Did the just Goddess Lengthen their happiness, She lengthened also Distress elsewhere. The hour, whose happy Unalloyed moments I would eternalize, Ten thousand mourners Well pleased see end. The bleak stern hour, Whose severe moments I would annihilate, Is passed by others In warmth, light, joy. Time, so complained of, Who to no one man Shows partiality, Brings round to all men Some undimmed hours.
Added: 12 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 5:18 PM | Viewed: 6574 times
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