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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Future</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wanderer is man from his birth.<br>He was born in a ship<br>On the breast of the river of Time;<br>Brimming with wonder and joy<br>He spreads out his arms to the light,<br>Rivets his gaze on the banks of the stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As what he sees is, so have his thoughts been.<br>Whether he wakes,<br>Where the snowy mountainous pass,<br>Echoing the screams of the eagles,<br>Hems in its gorges the bed<br>Of the new-born clear-flowing stream;<br>Whether he first sees light<br>Where the river in gleaming rings<br>Sluggishly winds through the plain;<br>Whether in sound of the swallowing sea--<br>As is the world on the banks,<br>So is the mind of the man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Vainly does each, as he glides,<br>Fable and dream<br>Of the lands which the river of Time<br>Had left ere he woke on its breast,<br>Or shall reach when his eyes have been closed.<br>Only the tract where he sails<br>He wots of; only the thoughts,<br>Raised by the objects he passes, are his.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who can see the green earth any more<br>As she was by the sources of Time?<br>Who imagines her fields as they lay<br>In the sunshine, unworn by the plough?<br>Who thinks as they thought,<br>The tribes who then roam'd on her breast,<br>Her vigorous, primitive sons?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What girl<br>Now reads in her bosom as clear<br>As Rebekah read, when she sate<br>At eve by the palm-shaded well?<br>Who guards in her breast<br>As deep, as pellucid a spring<br>Of feeling, as tranquil, as sure?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> What bard,<br>At the height of his vision, can deem<br>Of God, of the world, of the soul,<br>With a plainness as near,<br>As flashing as Moses felt<br>When he lay in the night by his flock<br>On the starlit Arabian waste?<br>Can rise and obey<br>The beck of the Spirit like him?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This tract which the river of Time<br>Now flows through with us, is the plain.<br>Gone is the calm of its earlier shore.<br>Border'd by cities and hoarse<br>With a thousand cries is its stream.<br>And we on its breast, our minds<br>Are confused as the cries which we hear,<br>Changing and shot as the sights which we see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And we say that repose has fled<br>For ever the course of the river of Time.<br> That cities will crowd to its edge<br>In a blacker, incessanter line;<br>That the din will be more on its banks,<br>Denser the trade on its stream,<br>Flatter the plain where it flows,<br>Fiercer the sun overhead.<br>That never will those on its breast<br>See an ennobling sight,<br>Drink of the feeling of quiet again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But what was before us we know not,<br>And we know not what shall succeed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Haply, the river of Time--<br>As it grows, as the towns on its marge<br>Fling their wavering lights<br>On a wider, statelier stream--<br>May acquire, if not the calm<br>Of its early mountainous shore,<br>Yet a solemn peace of its own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the width of the waters, the hush<br>Of the grey expanse where he floats,<br>Freshening its current and spotted with foam<br>As it draws to the Ocean, may strike<br>Peace to the soul of the man on its breast--<br>As the pale waste widens around him,<br>As the banks fade dimmer away,<br>As the stars come out, and the night-wind<br>Brings up the stream<br>Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea.</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=456516" data-title="The Future de Matthew Arnold" data-description="A wanderer is man from his birth.
He was born in a ship
On the breast of the river of Time;
Brimming with wonder and joy
He spreads out his arms to the light,
Rivets his gaze on the banks of the stream.

As what he sees is, so have his thoughts be..."></div>
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