Maxioms by Matthew Arnold
But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not read more
But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.
Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.
Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.
Six years--six little years--six drops of time.
Six years--six little years--six drops of time.
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.
This strange disease of modern life,
With its sick hurry, its divided aims.
This strange disease of modern life,
With its sick hurry, its divided aims.
