Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/218

180 In the void air, towards thee,

My stretched arms are cast;

But a sea rolls between us,—

Our different past!

To the lips, ah! of others

Those lips have been prest,

And others, ere I was,

Were strained to that breast.

Far, far from each other

Our spirits have grown.

And what heart knows another?

Ah! who knows his own?

Blow, ye winds! lift me with you!

I come to the wild.

Fold closely, O Nature!

Thine arms round thy child.

To thee only God granted

A heart ever new,—

To all always open,

To all always true.

Ah! calm me, restore me;

And dry up my tears

On thy high mountain platforms,

Where morn first appears;

Where the white mists, forever,

Are spread and upfurled,—

In the stir of the forces

Whence issued the world.