Matthew Arnold

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.

Strew on her roses, roses, / And never a spray of yew. / In quiet she reposes: / Ah! would read more

Strew on her roses, roses, / And never a spray of yew. / In quiet she reposes: / Ah! would that I did too!

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

Joy comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows
Like the wave;
Change doth unknit the tranquil strength read more

Joy comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows
Like the wave;
Change doth unknit the tranquil strength of men.
Love tends life a little grace,
A few sad smiles; and then,
Both are laid in one cold place,
In the grave.

The East bow'd low before the blast,
In patient, deep disdain.
She let the legions thunder past,
read more

The East bow'd low before the blast,
In patient, deep disdain.
She let the legions thunder past,
And plunged in thought again.