Maxioms by Matthew Arnold
On Sundays, at the matin-chime,
The Alpine peasants, two and three,
Climb up here to pray;
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On Sundays, at the matin-chime,
The Alpine peasants, two and three,
Climb up here to pray;
Burghers and dames, at summer's prime,
Ride out to church from Chamberry,
Dight with mantles gay,
But else it is a lonely time
Round the Church of Brou.
On one she smiles, and he was blest;
She smiles elsewhere--we make a din!
But 'twas not read more
On one she smiles, and he was blest;
She smiles elsewhere--we make a din!
But 'twas not love which heaved her breast,
Fair child!--it was the bliss within.
[Oxford] Home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs and unpopular
names and impossible loyalties.
[Oxford] Home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs and unpopular
names and impossible loyalties.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls
a butterfly.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls
a butterfly.
The East bow'd low before the blast,
In patient, deep disdain.
She let the legions thunder past,
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The East bow'd low before the blast,
In patient, deep disdain.
She let the legions thunder past,
And plunged in thought again.
