22.07.2007, 18:25
To Matthew Arnold
Sweet singer, who among thy poet's bays
Some bitter-fragrant herb has intertwined,
Who round about thy throbbing lyre dost bind
Some scent which, stealing with thy happiest lays
Down to the heart's deep-secret core, doth raise
A subtle ache their sweetness cannot still,
A yearning that they cannot all fulfil,
That lives and sleeps and lives through many days.
Though restless youth and age unrested bring
Their discontents, though many things seem to lie;
Yet, God be praised, we cannot wholly die
Whilst such as thou, such as thy father sing,
And point us still to such landmarks as these,
Monica, Obermann, Empedocles.
Sweet singer, who among thy poet's bays
Some bitter-fragrant herb has intertwined,
Who round about thy throbbing lyre dost bind
Some scent which, stealing with thy happiest lays
Down to the heart's deep-secret core, doth raise
A subtle ache their sweetness cannot still,
A yearning that they cannot all fulfil,
That lives and sleeps and lives through many days.
Though restless youth and age unrested bring
Their discontents, though many things seem to lie;
Yet, God be praised, we cannot wholly die
Whilst such as thou, such as thy father sing,
And point us still to such landmarks as these,
Monica, Obermann, Empedocles.