Matthew Arnold

What little town by river or seashoreOr mountain built with quiet citadelIs emptied of its folk this pious morn?

Magic casements, opening on the foamOf perilous seas in fairy-land forlorn!

Ears, and labour-dimmed eyes,Regarding neither to rightNor left, goes passively by,Staggering on to her goal, etc.

For one short moment wander o'er his lips—That smile was Heine.

In the sounding labour-house vastOf being, is practised that strength,Zealous, beneficent, firm.