Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
That son of Italy who tried to blow,
Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song,
In his light youth amid a festal throng
Sate with his bride to see a public show.
Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow
Youth like a star; and what to youth belong—
Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong.
A prop gave way! crash fell a platform! lo,
'Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay!
Shuddering, they drew her garments off—and found
A robe of sackcloth next the smooth, white skin.
Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse! young, gay,
Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground
Of thought and of austerity within.