Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/474

436 Thy realm of thought is drear and cold—

The world is colder yet.

And thou hast pleasures, too, to share

With those who come to thee,—

Balms floating on thy mountain air,

And healing sights to see.

How often, where the slopes are green

On Jaman, hast thou sate

By some high chalet-door, and seen

The summer day grow late;

And darkness steal o'er the wet grass

With the pale crocus starred,

And reach that glimmering sheet of glass

Beneath the piny sward,—

Lake Leman's waters, far below;

And watched the rosy light

Fade from the distant peaks of snow;

And on the air of night

Heard accents of the eternal tongue

Through the pine branches play,—

Listened, and felt thyself grow young!

Listened, and wept— Away!

Away the dreams that but deceive!

And thou, sad guide, adieu!

I go, fate drives me; but I leave

Half of my life with you.

We, in some unknown Power's employ,

Move on a rigorous line;

Can neither, when we will, enjoy,

Nor, when we will, resign.