PHILOMELA
by: Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)
- ARK! 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,
- 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
- 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?
-
- 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
- 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
- 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!
- Eternal Passion!
- Eternal Pain!
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POEMS BY MATTHEW ARNOLD |
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