Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/330

292 Denser the trade on its stream,

Flatter the plain where it flows,

Fiercer the sun overhead;

That never will those on its breast

See an ennobling sight,

Drink of the feeling of quiet again.

But what was before us we know not,

And we know not what shall succeed.

Haply, the river of Time—

As it grows, as the towns on its marge

Fling their wavering lights

On a wider, statelier stream—

May acquire, if not the calm

Of its early mountainous shore,

Yet a solemn peace of its own.

And the width of the waters, the hush

Of the gray expanse where he floats,

Freshening its current, and spotted with foam

As it draws to the ocean, may strike

Peace to the soul of the man on its breast,—

As the pale waste widens around him,

As the banks fade dimmer away,

As the stars come out, and the night-wind

Brings up the stream

Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea.