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Matthew Arnold

Topics: classic

(DIED, APRIL 15, 1888)     Within that wood where thine own scholar strays,     O! Poet, thou art passed, and at its bound     Hollow and sere we cry, yet win no sound     But the dark muttering of the forest maze     We may not tread, nor pierce with any gaze;     And hardly love dare whisper thou hast found     That restful moonlit slope of pastoral ground     Set in dark dingles of the songful ways.     Gone! they have called our shepherd from the hill,     Passed is the sunny sadness of his song,     That song which sang of sight and yet was brave     To lay the ghosts of seeing, subtly strong     To wean from tears and from the troughs to save;     And who shall teach us now that he is still!

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"(DIED, APRIL 15, 1888)..."

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"Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird,     ..."

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