Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnoldwas an English poet and cultural critic who worked as an inspector of schools. He was the son of Thomas Arnold, the famed headmaster of Rugby School, and brother to both Tom Arnold, literary professor, and William Delafield Arnold, novelist and colonial administrator. Matthew Arnold has been characterised as a sage writer, a type of writer who chastises and instructs the reader on contemporary social issues...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth24 December 1822
culture love origin properly study
Culture is. . . properly described not as having its origin in curiosity, but as having its origin in the love of perfection; it is a study of perfection.
expressive eyes lovely
Eyes too expressive to be blue, / Too lovely to be grey.
love being-true certitude
Ah, love, let us be true To one another!
love heart speak
Alas! is even love too weak To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
high quick soon thou wilt
Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go? / Soon will the high midsummer pomps come on.
english-poet finds loses resolve
Resolve to find thyself; and to know that he who finds himself, loses his misery.
english-poet finds loses resolve
Resolve to be thyself; and know that who finds himself, loses his misery.
attic glory life mellow saw
Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole: / The mellow glory of the Attic stage.
breaks cliff haunts meet
Not here, O Apollo! / Are haunts meet for thee. / But, where Helicon breaks down / In cliff to the sea.
nursing
Still nursing the unconquerable hope, / Still clutching the inviolable shade.
demands effort greatest teach
...what thwarts us and demands of us the greatest effort is also what can teach us most.
cool crossing fingers slow stream swings thames thy trailing
Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe, / Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, / As the slow punt swings round.
armies clash confused ignorant night plain struggle swept
And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night
cannot fire heart kindle mystery soul spirit
We cannot kindle when we will / The fire which in the heart resides, / The spirit bloweth and is still, / In mystery our soul abides.