mazes of heat and sound

Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes:
Ah! would that I did too!
Her mirth the world required:
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
And now they let her be.
Her life was turning, turning,
In mazes of heat and sound;
But for peace her soul was yearning,
And now peace laps her round.
Her cabin'd, ample spirit,
It flutter'd and fail'd for breath.
To-night it doth inherit
The vastly hall of Death.

[Matthew Arnold, 'Requiescat', from Truth is Beauty

intended to have been posted 17 April 2015]