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Is it so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun, to have lived light in the sky, to have loved, to have thought, to have done?

Matthew Arnold

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Matthew Arnold
Age: 65 †
Born: 1822
Born: December 24
Died: 1888
Died: April 15
Journalist
Literary Critic
Poet
School Inspector
University Teacher
Writer
Laleham
Surrey
Light
Thought
Enjoyed
Done
Sky
Thing
Sun
Lived
Loved
Small
Nature

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Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes Ah, would that I did too!
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Our inequality materializes our upper class, vulgarizes our middle class, brutalizes our lower class.
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Alas! is even love too weak To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
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What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Is it for Beauty to forego her wreath? Yes but not this alone.
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Thought and science follow their own law of development they are slowly elaborated in the growth and forward pressure of humanity, in what Shakespeare calls ...The prophetic soul, Of the wide world dreaming on things to come.
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O strong soul, by what shore Tarriest thou now? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain!
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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.
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Hither and thither spins The wind-borne mirroring soul, A thousand glimpses wins, And never sees a whole.
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Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye.
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Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age, More fortunate, alas! than we, Which without hardness will be sage, And gay without frivolity.
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Sanity -- that is the great virtue of the ancient literature the want of that is the great defect of the modern, in spite of its variety and power.
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Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep Where the spent lights quiver and gleam Where the salt weed sways in the stream.
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The world hath failed to impart the joy our youth forebodes failed to fill up the void which in our breasts we bear.
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Say, has some wet bird-haunted English lawn Lent it the music of its trees at dawn?
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Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine.
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Ah, love, let us be true To one another!
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Truth illuminates and gives joy and it is by the bond of joy, not of pleasure, that men's spirits are indissolubly held.
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Because thou must not dream, thou need not despair.
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The best poetry will be found to have a power of forming, sustaining, and delighting us, as nothing else can.
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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.
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