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.

Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
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Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark!--what pain!
. . . .
Again--thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!

Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.

Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.

The freethinking of one age is the common sense of the next.

The freethinking of one age is the common sense of the next.

They live that they may eat, but he himself [Socrates] eats that
he may live.

They live that they may eat, but he himself [Socrates] eats that
he may live.