Poems by Matthew Arnold

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What poets feel not, when they make,
Was it a dream? We sail’d, I thought we sail’d,
My Horse's feet beside the lake,
They are gone: all is still: Foolish heart, dost thou quiver?
This sentence have I left behind:
What made my heart, at Newstead, fullest swell?
The sandy spits, the shore-lock’d lakes,
In the deserted, moon-blanched street,
I ask not that my bed of death
In this fair stranger’s eyes of grey
Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep, for here
Long fed on boundless hopes, O race of man,
CALLICLES (front below)
Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
That son of Italy who tried to blow,
The evening comes, the fields are still.
Far, far from here,
A thousand knights have rein’d their steeds
Mist clogs the sunshine.
True, we must tame our rebel will:
Thou, who dost dwell alone;
The thoughts that rain their steady glow
Why each is striving, from of old,
The sea is calm tonight.
For him who must see many years,
In the bare midst of Anglesey they show
’Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead
One Morn as through Hyde Park we walk’d.
I too have suffer’d: yet I know
O frivolous mind of man,
Is it so small a thing
The gods held talk together, group’d in knots,
What is it to grow old?
Where, under Loughrigg, the stream
A region desolate and wild.
‘Henri Heine’, , ’tis here!
Omit, omit, my simple friend,
What mortal, when he saw,
Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,
If, in the silent mind of One all-pure,
I must not say that thou wert true,
A year had flown, and o’er the sea away,
Raise the light, my page! that I may see her.
We were apart; yet, day by day,
Forth from the East, up the ascent of Heaven,
Yes, now the longing is o’erpast,
In this lone, open glade I lie,
Come to me in my dreams, and then
CALLICLES (from below)
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece,
Silent, the Lord of the world
‘Oh could thy grave at home, at Carthage, be!’
We cannot kindle when we will
"Not by the justice that my father spurn'd,
In front the awful Alpine track
Glion? Ah, twenty years, it cuts
Vain is the effort to forget.
Set where the upper streams of Simois flow
Ye storm-winds of Autumn
Hark! ah, the nightingale
‘Man is blind because of sin;
In two small volumes of Poems, published anonymously, one in 1849, the other in 1852, many of the Poems which compose the present volume have already appeared. The rest are now published for the first time.
And they remember
The Master stood upon the mount, and taught.
One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
Children (as such forgive them) have I known,
Strew on her roses, roses,
To die be given us, or attain!
Before Man parted for this earthly strand,
Murmur of living!
Coldly, sadly descends
Saint Brandan sails the northern main;
Say, what blinds us, that we claim the glory
Weary of myself, and sick of asking
Stop Not to me, at this bitter departing,
Others abide our question. Thou art free.
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,
One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
Not in sunk Spain’s prolong’d death agony;
Thou, who dost dwell alone,
I saw him sensitive in frame,
Far on its rocky knoll descried
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused
In front the awful Alpine track
Long fed on boundless hopes, O race of man,
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Down the Savoy valleys sounding,
Upon the glistening leaden roof
‘Yes, write it in the rock!’ Saint Bernard said,
Come, dear children, let us away;
A wanderer is man from his birth.
He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save.
A region desolate and wild,
Again I see my bliss at hand;
Hist! once more!
Creep into thy narrow bed,
In summer, on the headlands,
In the cedar shadow sleeping,
In his cool hall, with haggard eyes,
A long pause, during which EMPEDOCLES remains motionless, plunged in thought. The night deepens. He moves forward and gazes round him, and proceeds:
Youth rambles on life’s arid mount,
Still glides the stream, slow drops the boat
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
Moderate tasks and moderate leisure,
Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
And you, ye stars,
Faster, faster,
Ten years! and to my waking eye
So rest, for ever rest, O princely Pair!
As the kindling glances,
Why, when the World’s great mind
So far as I conceive the World’s rebuke
We, O Nature, depart:
Rais’d are the dripping oars
Where I am, thou ask’st, and where I wended
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills!
Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind?
Who prop, thou ask’st in these bad days, my mind?
Douglas, Isle of Man
God knows it, I am with you. If to prize
God knows it, I am with you. If to prize
Yet, when I muse on what life is, I seem
‘In harmony with Nature’? Restless fool,
Joy comes and goes: hope ebbs and flows,
Artist, whose hand, with horror wing’d, hath torn
We were apart: yet, day by day,
’Yes: in the sea of life enisl’d,
Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
Laugh, my Friends, and without blame
Because thou hast believ’d, the wheels of life
Each on his own strict line we move,
He advances to the edge of the crater. Smoke and fire break forth with a loud noise, and CALLICLES is heard below singing:
Crouch'd on the pavement close by Belgrave Square
Even in a palace, life may be led well!
Affections, Instincts, Principles, and Powers,
‘O monstrous, dead, unprofitable world,
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
’When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence,

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