Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/518

480

Beautiful city! If departed things

Ever again put earthly likeness on,

Here should a thousand forms on fancy's wings

Float up to tell of ages that are gone:

Yea though hand touch thee not, nor eye should see,

Still should the spirit hold communion, Rome, with thee!

Oh! it is bitter, that each fairest dream

Should fleet before us but to melt away;

That wildest visions still should loveliest seem

And soonest fade in the broad glare of day:

That while we feel the world is dull and low,

Gazing on thee, we wake to find it is not so.

A little while, alas! a little while,

And the same world has tongue, and ear, and eye,

The careless glance, the cold unmeaning smile,

The thoughtless word, the lack of sympathy!

Who would not turn him from the barren sea

And rest his weary eyes on the green land and thee!

So pass we on. But oh! to harp aright

The vanisht glories of thine early day,

There needs a minstrel of diviner might,

A holier incense than this feeble lay;

To chant thy requiem with more passionate breath,

And twine with bolder hand thy last memorial wreath!