Hark! ah, the nightingale-- <br />The tawny-throated! <br />Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst! <br />What triumph! hark!--what pain! <br /> <br />O wanderer from a Grecian shore, <br />Still, after many years, in distant lands, <br />Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain <br />That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain-- <br /> <br />Say, will it never heal? <br />And can this fragrant lawn <br />With its cool trees, and night, <br />And the sweet, tranquil Thames, <br />And moonshine, and the dew, <br />To thy rack'd heart and brain <br />Afford no balm? <br /> <br />Dost thou to-night behold, <br />Here, through the moonlight on this English grass, <br />The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild? <br />Dost thou again peruse <br />With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes <br />The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame? <br />Dost thou once more assay <br />Thy flight, and feel come over thee, <br />Poor fugitive, the feathery change <br />Once more, and once more seem to make resound <br />With love and hate, triumph and agony, <br />Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale? <br />Listen, Eugenia-- <br />How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves! <br />Again--thou hearest? <br />Eternal passion! <br />Eternal pain!<br /><br />Matthew Arnold<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/philomela/
