by Matthew Arnold

(Continued from To Marguerite.)

In this fair stranger's eyes of gray,
    Thine eyes, my love! I see.
I shiver; for the passing day
    Had borne me far from thee.

This is the curse of life! that not
    A nobler, calmer train
Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot
    Our passions from our brain;

But each day brings its petty dust,
    Our soon-choked souls to fill;
And we forget because we must,
    And not because we will.

I struggle towards the light; and ye,
    Once-longed-for storms of love!
If with the light ye cannot be,
    I bear that ye remove.

I struggle towards the light; but oh,
    While yet the night is chill,
Upon time's barren, stormy flow,
    Stay with me, Marguerite, still!

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