Quotes
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Only--but this is rare--When a beloved hand is laid in ours, When, jaded with the rush and glare. Of the interminable hours, Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear, When our world-deafen'd ear. Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know. A man becomes aware of...
Matthew Arnold
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 armies clash by night.
Matthew Arnold
The sea is calm tonight. 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. Come to the window, sweet is the night air! Only, from the long line of spray. Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar. Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand . . .
Matthew Arnold
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