Matthew Arnold


STREW on her roses, roses,
    And never a spray of yew.
In quiet she reposes:
    Ah! would that I did too.

Her mirth the world required:
    She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
    And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning,
    In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning,
    And now peace laps her round.

Her cabin'd, ample Spirit,
    It flutter'd and fail'd for breath.
To-night it doth inherit
    The vasty hall of Death.

About the poet
Matthew Arnold
By the same poet
Dover Beach
The Scholar-Gipsy
The Forsaken Merman
The Song of Callicles
To Marguerite
Related books
Matthew Arnold at amazon.co.uk

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