Matthew Arnold

But each day brings from its pretty dust
Our soon choked souls to fill.

But each day brings from its pretty dust
Our soon choked souls to fill.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

And see all sights from pole to pole, / And glance, and nod, and bustle by; / And never once read more

And see all sights from pole to pole, / And glance, and nod, and bustle by; / And never once possess our soul / Before we die.

What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre read more

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.

One thing only has been lent to youth and age in common--discontent.

One thing only has been lent to youth and age in common--discontent.