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Matthew Arnold - From the Hymn of Empedocles
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IS it so small a thing
To have enjoy`d the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done;
To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes;

That we must feign a bliss
Of doubtful future date,
And while we dream on this
Lose all our present state,
And relegate to worlds yet distant our repose?

Not much, I know, you prize
What pleasures may be had,
Who look on life with eyes
Estranged, like mine, and sad:
And yet the village churl feels the truth more than you;

Who `s loth to leave this life
Which to him little yields:
His hard-task`d sunburnt wife,
His often-labour`d fields;
The boors with whom he talk`d, the country spots he knew.

But thou, because thou hear`st
Men scoff at Heaven and Fate;
Because the gods thou fear`st
Fail to make blest thy state,
Tremblest, and wilt not dare to trust the joys there are.

I say, Fear not! life still
Leaves human effort scope.
But, since life teems with ill,
Nurse no extravagant hope.
Because thou must not dream, thou need`st not then despair.
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