'Others abide our question.' -- MATTHEW ARNOLD. WHAT like wert thou, O Riddle of our Race! Whose intent eye the minds of men could see, And, by excess of intuition, trace In the dull germ its full maturity? Thou, 'of imagination all compact,' Alone among thy fellows, could'st ally The thought and word, the impulse and the act, Cause and effect, unerringly. But why? None can make answer! To our ken a shade, Thou -- for whom souls lay open -- art as dark As formless phantoms of the night that fade With daybreak and the singing of the lark. We may explore thy Secret still, yet thou, Serene, unsearchable, above us all, Look'st down, as from some lofty mountain-brow, And art thyself thine own Memorial. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITTLE WHILE by SARA TEASDALE VISIONS: 4. A ROSE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY |