Matthew Arnold

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Eaton & Mains, 1906 - 165 pages
 

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Page 73 - Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!
Page 149 - O May I Join The Choir Invisible! O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence...
Page 53 - He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth, Smiles broke from us and we had ease; The hills were round us, and the breeze Went o'er the sun-lit fields again; Our foreheads felt the wind and rain. Our youth returned ; for there was shed On spirits that had long been dead, Spirits dried up and closely furl'd, The freshness of the early world.
Page 43 - Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
Page 40 - Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again!
Page 16 - Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues...
Page 12 - He took the suffering human race, He read each wound, each weakness clear; And struck his finger on the place, And said: Thou ailest here, and here!
Page 76 - Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
Page 117 - Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go ? Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on, Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, Sweet- William with his homely cottage-smell, And stocks in fragrant blow; Roses that down the alleys shine afar, And open, jasmine-muffled lattices, And groups under the dreaming garden-trees, And the full moon, and the white evening-star.
Page 18 - The East bow'd low before the blast In patient, deep disdain; She let the legions thunder past, And plunged in thought again.

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