The Works of Matthew Arnold, Volumen2

Macmillan, 1903

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Página 102 - With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern.
Página 39 - That wild, unquench d, deep-sunken, old-world pain — Say, will it never heal ? And can this fragrant lawn With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, And moonshine, and the dew, To thy rack'd heart and brain Afford no balm ? Dost thou to-night behold, Here, through the moonlight on this English grass...
Página 59 - But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant...
Página 28 - They see the Centaurs On Pelion: — then they feel, They too, the maddening wine Swell their large veins to bursting: in wild pain They feel the biting spears Of the grim...
Página 276 - Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills ; and there The sunshine in the happy glens is fair, And by the sea, and in the brakes. The grass is cool, the sea-side air Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers More virginal and sweet than ours.
Página 39 - PHILOMELA HARK ! ah, the Nightingale ! The tawny-throated ! Hark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! What triumph ! hark — what pain ! O Wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still, after many years, in distant lands, Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain—- Say, will it never heal...
Página 58 - Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
Página 100 - 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 Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send : ' Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end ! * Ah, once more...
Página 58 - DOVER BEACH THE sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits ; — on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone ; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Página 59 - The sea of faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating to the breath Of the night-wind down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world, To one another!

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