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Matthew Arnold - Morality
Work rating: Medium

We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.
    But tasks in hours of insight will`d
    Can be through hours of gloom fulfill`d.

  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.

  Then, when the clouds are off the soul,
When thou dost bask in Nature`s eye,
Ask, how she view`d thy self-control,
Thy struggling, task`d morality—
    Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,
    Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

  And she, whose censure thou dost dread,
Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,
See, on her face a glow is spread,
A strong emotion on her cheek!
    "Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine,
    Whence was it, for it is not mine?

  "There is no effort on my brow—
I do not strive, I do not weep;
I rush with the swift spheres and glow
In joy, and when I will, I sleep.
    Yet that severe, that earnest air,
    I saw, I felt it once—but where?

  "I knew not yet the gauge of time,
Nor wore the manacles of space;
I felt it in some other clime,
I saw it in some other place.
    `Twas when the heavenly house I trod,
    And lay upon the breast of God."
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