Verse > Anthologies > James and Mary Ford, eds. > Every Day in the Year
James and Mary Ford, eds.  Every Day in the Year.  1902.
March 31
Haworth Churchyard
By Matthew Arnold (1822–1888)
          In memory of Charlotte Brontë. Died March 31, 1855.

HOW shall we honour the young,
The ardent, the gifted? how mourn?
Console we cannot; her ear
Is deaf. Far northward from here,
In a churchyard high mid the moors        5
Of Yorkshire, a little earth
Stops it for ever to praise.
Where, behind Keighly, the road
Up to the heart of the moors
Beneath heath-clad showery hills        10
Runs, and colliers carts
Poach the deep ways coming down,
And a rough, grim’d race have their homes—
There, on its slope, is built
The moorland town. But the church        15
Stands on the crest of the hill,
Lonely and bleak; at its side
The parsonage house and the graves.
See! in the desolate house
The children’s father. Alas—        20
Age, whom the most of us chide,
Chide, and put back, and delay—
Come, unupbraided for once!
Lay thy benumbing hand,
Gratefully cold on this brow!        25
Shut out the grief, the despair!
Weaken the sense of his loss!
Deaden the infinite pain!
Another grief I see,
Younger: but this the Muse,        30
In pity, with silent awe
Revering what she cannot sooth,
With veil’d face and bow’d head,
Salutes, and passes by.
Strew with roses the grave        35
Of the early-dying. Alas!
Early she goes on the path
To the Silent Country, and leaves
Half his laurels unwon,
Dying too soon; yet green        40
Laurels she had, and a course
Short, yet redoubled by Fame.

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