The Lake

A poem by Matthew Arnold

Again I see my bliss at hand;
The town, the lake are here.
My Marguerite smiles upon the strand
Unalter’d with the year.

I know that graceful figure fair,
That cheek of languid hue;
I know that soft enkerchief’d hair,
And those sweet eyes of blue.

Again I spring to make my choice;
Again in tones of ire
I hear a God’s tremendous voice
‘Be counsell’d, and retire!’

Ye guiding Powers, who join and part,
What would ye have with me?
Ah, warn some more ambitious heart,
And let the peaceful be!