Matthew Arnold

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.

Then gazing up 'mid the dim pillars high,
The foliaged marble forest where ye lie,
Hush, ye read more

Then gazing up 'mid the dim pillars high,
The foliaged marble forest where ye lie,
Hush, ye will say, it is eternity!
This is the glimmering verge of heaven, and there
The columns of the heavenly palaces.

Culture is the passion for sweetness and light, and (what is
more) the passion for making them prevail.

Culture is the passion for sweetness and light, and (what is
more) the passion for making them prevail.

On Sundays, at the matin-chime,
The Alpine peasants, two and three,
Climb up here to pray;
read more

On Sundays, at the matin-chime,
The Alpine peasants, two and three,
Climb up here to pray;
Burghers and dames, at summer's prime,
Ride out to church from Chamberry,
Dight with mantles gay,
But else it is a lonely time
Round the Church of Brou.

Now the great winds shoreward blow, / Now the salt tides seaward flow; / Now the wild white horses play, read more

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.