Arthur Hugh Clough! How pleasant sounds the name!
What wholesome thoughts and memories it doth wake!
How clear of every shadow is its fame,
(Not clearer thine, dear Artist-Poet Blake!)
Tis such as he restore our faith in man,
When human baseness makes us most despair,
Lifting our thoughts—how few are those who can!—
Into purer and diviner air.
Sincerer soul on earth was never known;
Content where knowledge might not be to stay—
Without vain murmur, or unmanly moan—
In the soul's twilight, clamouring not for day.
Whene'er with cheerless thought too much oppressed
His memory gives my troubled spirit rest.