Parting

O tell me, friends, while yet we part,
And heart can yet be heard of heart,
O tell me then, for what is it
Our early plan of life we quit;
From all our old intentions range,
And why does all so wholly change?
O tell me, friends, while yet we part!

O tell me, friends, while yet we part,
The rays that from the centre start
Within the orb of one warm sun,
Unless I err, have once begun,
Why is it thus they still diverge?
And whither tends the course they urge?
O tell me, friends, while yet we part!

O tell me, friends, while yet ye hear,
May it not be, some coming year,
These ancient paths that here divide
Shall yet again run side by side,
And you from there, and I from here,
All on a sudden reappear?
O tell me, friends, while yet ye hear!

O tell me, friends, ye hardly hear,
And if indeed ye did, I fear
Ye would not say, ye would not speak,
Are you so strong, am I so weak,
And yet, how much so eer I yearn,
Can I not follow, nor you turn?
O tell me, friends, ye hardly hear!

O tell me, friends, ere words are oer,
Theres something in me sad and sore
Repines, and underneath my eyes
I feel a somewhat that would rise,
O tell me, O my friends, and you,
Do you feel nothing like it too?
O tell me, friends, ere words are oer!

O tell me, friends that are no more,
Do you, too, think ere it is oer
Old times shall yet come round as erst,
And we be friends, as we were first?
Or do you judge that all is vain,
Except that rule that none complain?
O tell me, friends that are no more!

Arthur Hugh Clough

Arthur Hugh Clough was born on January 1, 1819, in Liverpool, England. He was a prominent Victorian poet known for his thoughtful and somewhat unconventional works. Clough was educated at Rugby School and later at Balliol College, Oxford, where he became closely associated with the intellectual reformist circles of the time. His poetry often explored themes of doubt, faith, and societal conventions. Despite his relatively short life, Clough made a significant impact on English literature and remains a respected figure of the Victorian literary scene. He passed away on November 13, 1861.

Arthur Hugh Clough

Repose in Egypt

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The Bothie of Tober-na-vuolich - IX

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Thoughts of Home.1

Arthur Hugh Clough, Simple Poetry

English

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Love is fellow-service.


A youth and maid upon a summer night
Upon the lawn, while yet the skies were light,
Edmund and Emma, let their names be these,
Among the shrubs within the circling trees,
Joined in a game with boys and girls at play:
For games perhaps too old a little they;
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And twenty he, and near to twenty-one.
A game it was of running and of noise;
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Emma, he called, then knew that he was wrong,
Knew that her name to him did not belong.
Her look and manner proved his feeling true,
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Blank Misgivings Of A Creature Moving About In Worlds Not Realised.

I

Here am I yet, another twelvemonth spent,
One-third departed of the mortal span,
Carrying on the child into the man,
Nothing into reality. Sails rent,
And rudder broken, reason impotent
Affections all unfixed; so forth I fare
On the mid seas unheedingly, so dare
To do and to be done by, well content.
So was it from the first, so is it yet;
Yea, the first kiss that by these lips was set
On any human lips, methinks was sin
Sin, cowardice, and falsehood; for the will
Into a deed een then advanced, wherein
God, unidentified, was thought-of still.

II

Though to the vilest things beneath the moon
For poor Ease sake I give away my heart,
And for the moments sympathy let part
My sight and sense of truth, Thy precious boon,
My ...

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Some future day when what is now is not

Some future day when what is now is not,
When all old faults and follies are forgot,
And thoughts of difference passed like dreams away,
Well meet again, upon some future day.

When all that hindered, all that vexed our love,
As tall rank weeds will climb the blade above,
When all but it has yielded to decay,
Well meet again upon some future day.

When we have proved, each on his course alone,
The wider world, and learnt whats now unknown,
Have made life clear, and worked out each a way,
Well meet again, we shall have much to say.

With happier mood, and feelings born anew,
Our boyhoods bygone fancies well review,
Talk oer old talks, play as we used to play,
And meet again, on many a future day.

Some day, which oft our hearts shall ...

Arthur Hugh Clough

Cold Comfort

Say, will it, when our hairs are grey,
And wintry suns half light the day,
Which cheering hope and strengthening trust
Have left, departed, turned to dust,
Say, will it soothe lone years to extract
From fitful shows with sense exact
Their sad residuum, small, of fact?
Will trembling nerves their solace find
In plain conclusions of the mind?
Or errant fancies fond, that still
To fretful motions prompt the will,
Repose upon effect and cause,
And action of unvarying laws,
And human lifes familiar doom,
And on the all-concluding tomb.

Or were it to our kind and race,
And our instructed selves, disgrace
To wander then once more in you,
Green fields, beneath the pleasant blue;
To dream as we were used to dream,
And let things be whateer t...

Arthur Hugh Clough

Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries

Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries,
His iron might the potent engine plies:
Haste, winged words, and ere tis useless, tell,
Farewell, farewell, yet once again, farewell.

The docks, the streets, the houses past us fly,
Without a strain the great ship marches by;
Ye fleeting banks take up the words we tell,
And say for us yet once again, farewell.

The waters widen, on without a strain
The strong ship moves upon the open main;
She knows the seas, she hears the true waves swell,
She seems to say farewell, again farewell.

The billows whiten and the deep seas heave;
Fly once again, sweet words, to her I leave,
With winds that blow return, and seas that swell,
Farewell, farewell, say once again, farewell.

Fresh in my face and rippl...

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The Music of the World and of the Soul

I

Why should I say I see the things I see not?
Why be and be not?
Show love for that I love not, and fear for what I fear not?
And dance about to music that I hear not?
Who standeth still i the street
Shall be hustled and justled about;
And he that stops i the dance shall be spurned by the dancers feet,
Shall be shoved and be twisted by all he shall meet,
And shall raise up an outcry and rout;
And the partner, too,
What s the partner to do?
While all the while tis but, perchance, an humming in mine ear,
That yet anon shall hear,
And I anon, the music in my soul,
In a moment read the whole;
The music in my heart,
Joyously take my part,
And hand in hand, and heart with heart, with these retreat, advance;
And borne on wings of wavy sound...

Arthur Hugh Clough