A stranger, schooled to gentle arts, He stept before the curious throng; His path into our waiting hearts Already paved by song. Full well we knew his choristers, Whose plaintive voices haunt our rest, Those sable-vested harbingers Of melancholy guest. We smiled on him for love of these, With eyes that swift grew dim to scan Beneath the veil of courteous ease The faith-forsaken man. To his wan gaze the weary shows And fashions of our vain estate, Our shallow pain and false repose, Our barren love and hate, Are shadows in a land of graves, Where creeds, the bubbles of a dream, Flash each and fade, like melting waves Upon a moonlight stream. Yet loyal to his own despair, Erect beneath a darkened sky, He deems the austerest truth more fair Than any gracious lie; And stands, heroic, patient, sage, With hopeless hands that bind the sheaf, Claiming God's work with His wage, The bard of unbelief.
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СлушатьMatthew Arnold On Hearing Him Read His Poems In Boston
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Katharine Lee Bates
Katharine Lee Bates (August 12, 1859 – March 28, 1929) was a prolific American writer, college professor, scholar, and social activist. Although…
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