Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/311

Rh To the dying spirit of youth!

Come, like the breath of the spring!

Leave not a human soul

To grow old in darkness and pain!

Only the living can feel you,

But leave us not while we live!

Here they stand to-night,—

Here, where this gray balustrade

Crowns the still valley; behind

In the castled house with its woods

Which sheltered their childhood; the sun

On its ivied windows; a scent

From the gray-walled gardens, a breath

Of the fragrant stock and the pink,

Perfumes the evening air.

Their children play on the lawns.

They stand and listen; they hear

The children's shouts, and at times,

Faintly, the bark of a dog

From a distant farm in the hills.

Nothing besides! in front

The wide, wide valley outspreads

To the dim horizon, reposed

In the twilight, and bathed in dew,

Cornfield and hamlet and copse

Darkening fast; but a light,

Far off, a glory of day,

Still plays on the city-spires;

And there in the dusk by the walls,

With the gray mist marking its course

Through the silent, flowery land,

On, to the plains, to the sea,

Floats the imperial stream.