Matthew Arnold Poems

  • 101.  
    The evening comes, the fields are still.
  • 102.  
    And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,
    And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream
  • 103.  
    Even in a palace, life may be led well!
    So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
  • 104.  
    In this lone, open glade I lie,
    Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; And at its end, to stay the eye,
  • 105.  
    Four years!--and didst thou stay above
    The ground, which hides thee now, but four? And all that life, and all that love,
  • 106.  
    Was it a dream? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd,
    Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream, Border'd, each bank, with pines; the morning sun,
  • 107.  
    Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,
    We leave the brutal world to take its way, And, Patience! in another life, we say
  • 108.  
  • 109.  
    Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts
    All meaning from a name! White houses prank where once were huts.
  • 110.  
    Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
    Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
  • 111.  
    In the deserted, moon-blanched street,
    How lonely rings the echo of my feet! Those windows, which I gaze at, frown,
  • 112.  
    'Not by the justice that my father spurn'd,
    Not for the thousands whom my father slew, Altars unfed and temples overturn'd,
  • 113.  
    Set where the upper streams of Simois flow
    Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood; And Hector was in Ilium, far below,
  • 114.  
    'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here,
    And ease from shame, and rest from fear. There's nothing can dismarble now
  • 115.  
    Before man parted for this earthly strand,
    While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, God put a heap of letters in his hand,
  • 116.  
    IS it so small a thing
    To have enjoy'd the sun, To have lived light in the spring,
  • 117.  
    One morn as through Hyde Park we walk'd,
    My friend and I, by chance we talk'd Of Lessing's famed Laocooen;
  • 118.  
    God knows it, I am with you. If to prize
    Those virtues, priz'd and practis'd by too few, But priz'd, but lov'd, but eminent in you,
  • 119.  
    _He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save._
    So rang Tertullian's sentence, on the side Of that unpitying Phrygian Sect which cried:
  • 120.  
    Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused
    With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused,
  • 121.  
    Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
    Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
  • 122.  
    The Youth
    Faster, faster,
  • 123.  
    Coldly, sadly descends
    The autumn-evening. The fieldStrewn with its dank yellow drifts
  • 124.  
    How changed is here each spot man makes or fills!
    In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village street its haunted mansion lacks,
  • 125.  
    The Master stood upon the mount, and taught.
    He saw a fire in his disciplesâ?? eyes; â??The old lawâ??, they said, â??is wholly come to naught!
  • 126.  
    Thou, who dost dwell alone;
    Thou, who dost know thine own;Thou, to whom all are known,
  • 127.  
    Far, far from here,
    The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills; and there
  • 128.  
    What mortal, when he saw,
    Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend,Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly:
  • 129.  
    We cannot kindle when we will
    The fire which in the heart resides;The spirit bloweth and is still,
  • 130.  
    That son of Italy who tried to blow,
    Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song, In his light youth amid a festal throng
  • 131.  
    Saint Brandan sails the northern main;
    The brotherhood of saints are glad.He greets them once, he sails again;
  • 132.  
    Weary of myself, and sick of asking
    What I am, and what I ought to be,At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
  • 133.  
    They outtalked thee, hissed thee, tore thee?
    Better men fared thus before thee;Fired their ringing shot and pass'd,
  • 134.  
    What, Kaiser dead? The heavy news
    Post-haste to Cobham calls the Muse, From where in Farringford she brews
  • 135.  
    Long fed on boundless hopes, O race of man,
    How angrily thou spurn'st all simpler fare!'Christ,' some one says, 'was human as we are;
  • 136.  
    One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
    One lesson which in every wind is blown, One lesson of two duties kept at one
  • 137.  
    Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
    Thick breaks the red flame; All Etna heaves fiercely
  • 138.  
    When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence,
    From this poor present self which I am now;When youth has done its tedious vain expense
  • 139.  
    Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece,
    Long since, saw Byron's struggle cease.But one such death remain'd to come;
  • 140.  
  • 141.  
    Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
    Thick breaks the red flame.All Etna heaves fiercely
  • 142.  
    Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
    With echoing straits between us thrown,Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
  • 143.  
    Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind?-
    He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men,Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen,
  • 144.  
    As the kindling glances,
    Queen-like and clear,Which the bright moon lances
  • 145.  
    And you, ye stars,
    Who slowly begin to marshal,As of old, in the fields of heaven,
  • 146.  
    Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
    Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes!No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
  • 147.  
    In his cool hall, with haggard eyes,
    The Roman noble lay;He drove abroad, in furious guise,
  • 148.  
    Creep into thy narrow bed,
    Creep, and let no more be said!Vain thy onset! all stands fast.
  • 149.  
    A wanderer is man from his birth.
    He was born in a shipOn the breast of the river of Time;
  • 150.  
    Come, dear children, let us away;
    Down and away below!Now my brothers call from the bay,
Total 161 poems written by Matthew Arnold

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
To Germany
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed,
And no man claimed the conquest of your land.
But gropers both through fields of thought confined
We stumble and we do not understand.
You only saw your future bigly planned,
And we, the tapering paths of our own mind,
And in each others dearest ways we stand,
And hiss and hate. And the blind fight the blind.

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