Sonett-Forum

To Matthew Arnold

Sweet singer, who among thy poet's bays
Some bitter-fragrant herb has intertwined,
Who round about thy throbbing lyre dost bind
Some scent which, stealing with thy happiest lays
Down to the heart's deep-secret core, doth raise
A subtle ache their sweetness cannot still,
A yearning that they cannot all fulfil,
That lives and sleeps and lives through many days.
Though restless youth and age unrested bring
Their discontents, though many things seem to lie;
Yet, God be praised, we cannot wholly die
Whilst such as thou, such as thy father sing,
And point us still to such landmarks as these,
Monica, Obermann, Empedocles.