Matthew Arnold

Matthew Arnold

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

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In the deserted, moon-blanched street, How lonely rings the echo of my feet
Those windows, which I gaze at, frown, Silent and white, unopening down, Repellent as the world,--but see, A break between the housetops shows The moon
and lost ...
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The sea is calm to-night
The tide is full, the moon lies
Upon the straits;—on the French coast the
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
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Mist clogs the sunshine
Smoky dwarf
Hem me round everywhere;
A vague
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Come to me in my dreams, and
By day I shall be well again
For so the night will more than
The hopeless longing of the day
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Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,
We leave the brutal world to take its way,
And,
Patience
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What is it to grow old
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath
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We cannot kindle when we
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides
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