Vain is the effort to forget.
Some day I shall be cold, I know,
As is the eternal moon-lit snow
Of the high Alps, to which I go:
But ah, not yet! not yet!
Vain is the agony of grief.
Tis true, indeed, an iron knot
Ties straitly up from mine thy lot,
And were it snapt, thou lovst me not!
But is despair relief?
Awhile let me with thought have done;
And as this brimmd unwrinkled Rhine
And that far purple mountain line
Lie sweetly in the look divine
Of the slow-sinking sun;
So let me lie, and calm as they
Let beam upon my inward view
Those eyes of deep, soft, lucent hue,
Eyes too expressive to be blue,
Too lovely to be grey.
Ah Quiet, all things feel thy balm!
Those blue hills too, this rivers flow,
Were restless once, but long ago.
Tamd is their turbulent youthful glow:
Their joy is in their calm.
On The Rhine
Matthew Arnold
Suggested Poems
Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.