Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/450

412 From a few boys late at their play!

The lights come out in the street,

In the schoolroom windows; but cold,

Solemn, unlighted, austere,

Through the gathering darkness, arise

The chapel-walls, in whose bound

Thou, my father! art laid.

There thou dost lie, in the gloom

Of the autumn evening. But ah!

That word gloom to my mind

Brings thee back in the light

Of thy radiant vigor again.

In the gloom of November we passed

Days not dark at thy side;

Seasons impaired not the ray

Of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear.

Such thou wast! and I stand

In the autumn evening, and think

Of bygone autumns with thee.

Fifteen years have gone round

Since thou arosest to tread,

In the summer-morning, the road

Of death, at a call unforeseen,

Sudden. For fifteen years,

We who till then in thy shade

Rested as under the boughs

Of a mighty oak, have endured

Sunshine and rain as we might,

Bare, unshaded, alone,

Lacking the shelter of thee.

O strong soul, by what shore

Tarriest thou now? For that force,