Where, since he walk’d there, only go
Prophets and friends of God....
and
The grave’s a fine and private place.
These are not at all in the same kind as “She should have died hereafter.” They depend for their effect not upon the sudden release of vast cumulative passion, but upon the lovely—almost arrogant—draft upon commonplace, the perfectly judged use of “friends” and “fine” at their utterly unexpected but divinely appointed moments. And this effect Arnold could often come by, and the rest of the Victorians hardly ever. Here are two examples—
I have a fretted brick-work tomb
Upon a hill on the right hand,
Hard by a close of apricots
Upon the road to Samarcand.
Thither, O Vizier, will I bear