Matthew Arnold

Wandering between two worlds, one dead,
The other powerless to be born
With nowhere yet to rest read more

Wandering between two worlds, one dead,
The other powerless to be born
With nowhere yet to rest my head,
Like these, on earth I wait forlorn.

I met a preacher there I knew, and said,
Ill and overworked, how fare you in this scene?
read more

I met a preacher there I knew, and said,
Ill and overworked, how fare you in this scene?
Bravely! said he; for I of late have been
Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.

But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not read more

But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.

I must not say that she was true,
Yet let me say that she was fair;
And read more

I must not say that she was true,
Yet let me say that she was fair;
And they, that lovely face who view,
They should not ask if truth be there.

Is it so small a thing / To have enjoyed the sun, / To have lived light in the spring, read more

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