Matthew Arnold

It is - last stage of all When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves To read more

It is - last stage of all When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blamed the living man

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.

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.

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.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before read more

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.