Strength is as weakness in the clasp of Time,
And for the things that were there is no cure.
The vineyard with its fair investiture,
The mountain summit with its hoary rime,
The throne of Cæsar, Cheops' tomb sublime,
Alike decay, and only dreams endure.
We find the same faith in "A Traveller from Altruria," published in her latest volume, the Lyrics of Life:—
He came to us with dreams to sell—
Ah, long ago it seems!
From regions where enchantments dwell,
He came to us with dreams to sell,—
And we had need of dreams.
Our thought had planned with artful care,
Our patient toil had wrought,
The roomy treasure-houses where
Were heaped the costly and the rare—
But dreams we had not bought.
Were one to quote further from Matthew Arnold he would find the master setting a high standard for the verse which should realize the exalted destiny he foresaw for poetry; elevation it should have, but beauty of form as well, and the truth of life must there find voice in life's own rhythm. In other words, there must in lasting poetry be present true quality of metrical art to express worthily the value of poetic
