Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/326

288 The will to neither strive nor cry,

The power to feel with others, give!

Calm, calm me more! nor let me die

Before I have begun to live.

A WISH.

not that my bed of death

From bands of greedy heirs be free;

For these besiege the latest breath

Of fortune's favored sons, not me.

I ask not each kind soul to keep

Tearless, when of my death he hears.

Let those who will, if any, weep!

There are worse plagues on earth than tears.

I ask but that my death may find

The freedom to my life denied;

Ask but the folly of mankind

Then, then at last, to quit my side.

Spare me the whispering, crowded room,

The friends who come, and gape, and go;

The ceremonious air of gloom,—

All which makes death a hideous show!

Nor bring, to see me cease to live,

Some doctor full of phrase and fame,

To shake his sapient head, and give

The ill he cannot cure a name.

Nor fetch, to take the accustomed toll

Of the poor sinner bound for death,

His brother-doctor of the soul,

To canvass with official breath