Matthew Arnold

Now the great winds shoreward blow, / Now the salt tides seaward flow; / Now the wild white horses play, read more

Now the great winds shoreward blow, / Now the salt tides seaward flow; / Now the wild white horses play, / Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

What then remains, but that we still should cry
Not to be born, or being born to die.

What then remains, but that we still should cry
Not to be born, or being born to die.

Like driftwood spares which meet and pass
Upon the boundless ocean-plain,
So on the sea of life, read more

Like driftwood spares which meet and pass
Upon the boundless ocean-plain,
So on the sea of life, alas!
Man nears man, meets, and leaves again.

Strew on her roses, roses, / And never a spray of yew. / In quiet she reposes: / Ah! would read more

Strew on her roses, roses, / And never a spray of yew. / In quiet she reposes: / Ah! would that I did too!

Saw life steadily and saw it whole.

Saw life steadily and saw it whole.