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Poem by Matthew Arnold

To the Duke of Wellington


Because thou hast believed, the wheels of life
Stand never idle, but go always round;
Not by their hands, who vex the patient ground,
Moved only; but by genius, in the strife

Of all its chafing torrents after thaw,
Urged; and to feed whose movement, spinning sand,
The feeble sons of pleasure set their hand;
And, in this vision of the general law,

Hast labored, but with purpose; hast become
Laborious, persevering, serious, firm,--
For this, thy track across the fretful foam

Of vehement actions without scope or term,
Called history, keeps a splendor; due to wit,
Which saw one clew to life, and followed it.

Matthew Arnold

Matthew Arnold's other poems:
  1. Religious Isolation
  2. To George Cruikshank
  3. Written in Butlers Sermons
  4. Quiet Work
  5. Written in Emersons Essays

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