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Matthew Arnold(1822–1888)

1852

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 cabined, ample spirit,It fluttered and failed for breath;To-night it doth inheritThe vasty hall of death.

De The Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold (1897), a partir de la transcripción de Wikisource en inglés.

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