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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456491" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Summer Night</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the deserted, moon-blanched street,<br>How lonely rings the echo of my feet!<br>Those windows, which I gaze at, frown,<br>Silent and white, unopening down,<br>Repellent as the world,--but see,<br>A break between the housetops shows<br>The moon! and lost behind her, fading dim<br>Into the dewy dark obscurity<br>Down at the far horizon's rim,<br>Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And to my mind the thought<br>Is on a sudden brought<br>Of a past night, and a far different scene:<br>Headlands stood out into the moonlit deep<br>As clearly as at noon;<br>The spring-tide's brimming flow<br>Heaved dazzlingly between;<br>Houses, with long wide sweep,<br>Girdled the glistening bay;<br>Behind, through the soft air,<br>The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away.<br>That night was far more fair--<br>But the same restless pacings to and fro,<br>And the same vainly throbbing heart was there,<br>And the same bright, calm moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the calm moonlight seems to say:--<br>Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast,<br>Which neither deadens into rest,<br>Nor ever feels the fiery glow<br>That whirls the spirit from itself away,<br>But fluctuates to and fro,<br>Never by passion quite possessed<br>And never quite benumbed by the world's sway?--<br>And I, I know not if to pray<br>Still to be what I am, or yield, and be<br>Like all the other men I see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For most men in a brazen prison live,<br>Where, in the sun's hot eye,<br>With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly<br>Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give,<br>Dreaming of naught beyond their prison wall.<br>And as, year after year,<br>Fresh products of their barren labor fall<br>From their tired hands, and rest<br>Never yet comes more near,<br>Gloom settles slowly down over their breast.<br>And while they try to stem<br>The waves of mournful thought by which they are prest,<br>Death in their prison reaches them,<br>Unfreed, having seen nothing, still unblest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the rest, a few,<br>Escape their prison and depart<br>On the wide ocean of life anew.<br>There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart<br>Listeth will sail;<br>Nor doth he know how there prevail,<br>Despotic on that sea.<br>Trade-winds which cross it from eternity:<br>Awhile he holds some false way, undebarred<br>By thwarting signs, and braves<br>The freshening wind and blackening waves.<br>And then the tempest strikes him; and between<br>The lightning bursts is seen<br>Only a driving wreck,<br>And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck<br>With anguished face and flying hair<br>Grasping the rudder hard,<br>Still bent to make some port he knows not where,<br>Still standing for some false, impossible shore.<br>And sterner comes the roar<br>Of sea and wind, and through the deepening gloom<br>Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom,<br>And he too disappears, and comes no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is there no life, but these alone?<br>Madman or slave, must man be one?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain!<br>Clearness divine!<br>Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign<br>Of languor, though so calm, and though so great<br>Are yet untroubled and unpassionate;<br>Who, though so noble, share in the world's toil,<br>And, though so tasked, keep free from dust and soil!<br>I will not say that your mild deeps retain<br>A tinge, it may be, of their silent pain<br>Who have longed deeply once, and longed in vain--<br>But I will rather say that you remain</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A world above man's head, to let him see<br>How boundless might his soul's horizons be,<br>How vast, yet of what clear transparency!<br>How it were good to live there, and breathe free;<br>How fair a lot to fill<br>Is left to each man still!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Matthew+Arnold">Matthew Arnold</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456491" data-title="A Summer Night de Matthew Arnold" data-description="In the deserted, moon-blanched street,
How lonely rings the echo of my feet!
Those windows, which I gaze at, frown,
Silent and white, unopening down,
Repellent as the world,--but see,
A break between the housetops shows
The moon! and lost behind h..."></div>
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