Matthew Arnold ( 10 of 61 )
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.
The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.
The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.
Her cabin'd ample spirit,
It fluttered and fail'd for breath;
Tonight it doth inherit
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Her cabin'd ample spirit,
It fluttered and fail'd for breath;
Tonight it doth inherit
The vasty hall of death.
I met a preacher there I knew, and said,
Ill and overworked, how fare you in this scene?
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I met a preacher there I knew, and said,
Ill and overworked, how fare you in this scene?
Bravely! said he; for I of late have been
Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.
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.
The kings of modern thought are dumb.
The kings of modern thought are dumb.
Children of men! the unseen Power, whose eye
Forever doth accompany mankind,
Hath look'd on no religion read more
Children of men! the unseen Power, whose eye
Forever doth accompany mankind,
Hath look'd on no religion scornfully
That men did ever find.
Youth dreams a bliss on this side of death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
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Youth dreams a bliss on this side of death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
More grateful than this marble sleep;
It hears a voice within it tell:
Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well.
'Tis all perhaps which man acquires,
But 'tis not what our youth desires.
Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
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Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark!--what pain!
. . . .
Again--thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!
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.
