Matthew Arnold Poems

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Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold (24 December 1822 – 15 April 1888) was an English poet and cultural critic, who worked as an inspector of schools. He was the son of Thomas Arnold, the famed headmaster of Rugby School, and brother to Tom Arnold, literary professor, and William Delafield Arnold, novelist and colonial administrator. Matthew Arnold was born in Laleham, Middlesex in the year 1822. He was the second child (of nine) and the eldest son of Thomas Arnold and Mary Penrose Arnold. Reverend John Keble, who would become one of the leaders of the Oxford Movement, stood as godfather to Matthew. "Thomas Arnold admired Keble's 'hymns' in The Christian Year, only reversing himself with exasperation when this old friend became a Romeward-tending 'High Church' reactionary in the 1830s. " In 1828, Arnold's father was appointed Headmaster of Rugby School and his young family took up residence, that year, in the Headmaster's house. In 1831, Arnold was tutored by his uncle, the Reverend John Buckland, at Laleham. In 1834, the Arnolds occupied a holiday home, Fox How, in the Lake District. William Wordsworth was a neighbor and close friend. Fox How became the family home after Dr. Arnold's untimely death in 1842.

to his conscience
Can I not sin, but thou wilt be
My private protonotary?
Can I not woo thee to pass by... [read poem]
to daffodils
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun... [read poem]
Hark! ah, the nightingale--
The tawny-throated!
Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst... [read poem]
delight in disorder
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders ... [read poem]
dover beach
The sea is calm to-night,
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; -- on the... [read poem]
what kind of mistress he would have
Be the mistress of my choice,
Clean in manners, clear in voice;
Be she witty, more than wi... [read poem]
corinna's going a-maying
Get up, get up for shame, the blooming Morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
... [read poem]
to virgins, to make much of time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower th... [read poem]
to live merrily, and to trust to good verses
Now is the time for mirth,
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
For with the flow'ry earth... [read poem]
his prayer for absolution
For those my unbaptized rhymes,
Writ in my wild unhallowed times,
For every sentence, clau... [read poem]
another grace for a child
Here a little child I stand
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,... [read poem]
the bad season makes the poet sad
Dull to myself, and almost dead to these
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses;
Lost to al... [read poem]
the argument of his book
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.... [read poem]
upon julia's clothes
Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction o... [read poem]
upon the loss of his mistresses
I have lost, and lately, these
Many dainty mistresses:
Stately Julia, prime of all;
S... [read poem]
his return to london
From the dull confines of the drooping west
To see the day spring from the pregnant east,
... [read poem]
the night piece, to julia
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also... [read poem]
upon parson beanes
Old Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week,
And on the seventh, he has his notes to seek.... [read poem]
an ode to ben jonson
Ah Ben!
Say how, or when
Shall we thy guests
... [read poem]
discontents in devon
More discontents I never had
Since I was born, than here;
Where I have been, and sti... [read poem]
his wish to god
I would to God, that mine old age might have
Before my last, but here a living grave;
Some... [read poem]
when he would have his verses read
In sober mornings do thou not rehearse
The holy incantation of a verse;
But when that men ... [read poem]
his prayer to ben jonson
When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd thee,
For old religion's sake,
Saint Be... [read poem]
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