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From the Hymn of Empedocles

IS it so small a thing

To have enjoy'd the sun,

To have lived light in the spring,

To have loved, to have thought, to have done;

To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes;

That we must feign a bliss

Of doubtful future date,

And while we dream on this

by Matthew Arnold

Immortality

Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,

We leave the brutal world to take its way,

And, Patience! in another life, we say

The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne.

And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn

The world's poor, routed leavings? or will they,

Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day,

Support the fervours of the heavenly morn?

by Matthew Arnold

Morality

We cannot kindle when we will

The fire which in the heart resides;

The spirit bloweth and is still,

In mystery our soul abides.

But tasks in hours of insight will'd

Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.

With aching hands and bleeding feet

We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;

by Matthew Arnold

Obermann Once More

Savez-vous quelque bien qui console du regret d'un

monde?—OBERMANN.

Glion?—Ah, twenty years, it cuts

All meaning from a name!

White houses prank where once were huts.

Glion, but not the same!

And yet I know not! All unchanged

The turf, the pines, the sky!

by Matthew Arnold

Consolation

Mist clogs the sunshine.

Smoky dwarf houses

Hem me round everywhere;

A vague dejection

Weighs down my soul.

Yet, while I languish,

Everywhere countless

Prospects unroll themselves,

by Matthew Arnold

Isolation: To Marguerite

We were apart; yet, day by day,

I bade my heart more constant be.

I bade it keep the world away,

And grow a home for only thee;

Nor fear'd but thy love likewise grew,

Like mine, each day, more tried, more true.

The fault was grave! I might have known,

What far too soon, alas! I learn'd—

by Matthew Arnold

Memorial Verses

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece,

Long since, saw Byron's struggle cease.

But one such death remain'd to come;

The last poetic voice is dumb—

We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb.

When Byron's eyes were shut in death,

We bow'd our head and held our breath.

He taught us little; but our soul

by Matthew Arnold

Sohrab and Rustum: An Episode

And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,

And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream.

But all the Tartar camp along the stream

Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep;

Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long

He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed;

But when the grey dawn stole into his tent,

He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword,

by Matthew Arnold

Tristram And Iseult

TRISTRAM

Tristram. Is she not come? The messenger was sure—

Prop me upon the pillows once again—

Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure.

—Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane!

What lights will those out to the northward be?

by Matthew Arnold

The Forsaken Merman

Come, dear children, let us away;

Down and away below!

Now my brothers call from the bay,

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.

Children dear, let us away!

by Matthew Arnold

Self-Dependence

Weary of myself, and sick of asking

What I am, and what I ought to be,

At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me

Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire

O'er the sea and to the stars I send:

"Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me,

Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

by Matthew Arnold

Shakespeare

Others abide our question. Thou art free.

We ask and ask—Thou smilest and art still,

Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill,

Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty,

Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,

Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,

Spares but the cloudy border of his base

To the foil'd searching of mortality;

by Matthew Arnold