Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/447

Rh Where behind Keighley the road

Up to the heart of the moors

Between heath-clad showery hills

Runs, and colliers' carts

Poach the deep ways coming down,

And a rough, grimed race have their homes,—

There on its slope is built

The moorland town. But the church

Stands on the crest of the hill,

Lonely and bleak; at its side

The parsonage-house and the graves.

Strew with laurel the grave

Of the early-dying! Alas!

Early she goes on the path

To the silent country, and leaves

Half her laurels unwon,

Dying too soon; yet green

Laurels she had, and a course

Short, but redoubled by fame.

And not friendless, and not

Only with strangers to meet,

Faces ungreeting and cold,

Thou, O mourned one, to-day

Enterest the house of the grave!

Those of thy blood, whom thou lovedst,

Have preceded thee,—young,

Loving, a sisterly band;

Some in art, some in gift

Inferior—all in fame.

They, like friends, shall receive

This comer, greet her with joy;

Welcome the sister, the friend;

Hear with delight of thy fame!