As the kindling glances, <br />Queen-like and clear, <br />Which the bright moon lances <br />From her tranquil sphere <br />At the sleepless waters <br />Of a lonely mere, <br />On the wild whirling waves, mournfully, mournfully, <br />Shiver and die. <br /> <br />As the tears of sorrow <br />Mothers have shed - <br />Prayers that tomorrow <br />Shall in vain be sped <br />When the flower they flow for <br />Lies frozen and dead - <br />Fall on the throbbing brow, fall on the burning breast, <br />Bringing no rest. <br /> <br />Like bright waves that fall <br />With a lifelike motion <br />On the lifeless margin of the sparkling Ocean; <br />A wild rose climbing up a mouldering wall - <br />A gush of sunbeams through a ruined hall - <br />Strains of glad music at a funeral - <br />So sad, and with so wild a start <br />To this deep-sobered heart, <br />So anxiously and painfully, <br />So drearily and doubtfully, <br />And oh, with such intolerable change <br />Of thought, such contrast strange, <br />O unforgotten voice, thy accents come, <br />Like wanderers from the world's extremity, <br />Unto their ancient home! <br /> <br />In vain, all, all in vain, <br />They beat upon mine ear again, <br />Those melancholy tones so sweet and still. <br />Those lute-like tones which in the bygone year <br />Did steal into mine ear - <br />Blew such a thrilling summons to my will, <br />Yet could not shake it; <br />Made my tost heart its very life-blood spill, <br />Yet could not break it.<br /><br />Matthew Arnold<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-voice-46/
