We cannot kindle when we will <br />The fire which in the heart resides; <br />The spirit bloweth and is still, <br />In mystery our soul abides. <br /> But tasks in hours of insight will'd <br /> Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd. <br /> <br /> With aching hands and bleeding feet <br />We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; <br />We bear the burden and the heat <br />Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. <br /> Not till the hours of light return, <br /> All we have built do we discern. <br /> <br /> Then, when the clouds are off the soul, <br />When thou dost bask in Nature's eye, <br />Ask, how she view'd thy self-control, <br />Thy struggling, task'd morality-- <br /> Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air, <br /> Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair. <br /> <br /> And she, whose censure thou dost dread, <br />Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek, <br />See, on her face a glow is spread, <br />A strong emotion on her cheek! <br /> 'Ah, child!' she cries, 'that strife divine, <br /> Whence was it, for it is not mine? <br /> <br /> 'There is no effort on my brow-- <br />I do not strive, I do not weep; <br />I rush with the swift spheres and glow <br />In joy, and when I will, I sleep. <br /> Yet that severe, that earnest air, <br /> I saw, I felt it once--but where? <br /> <br /> 'I knew not yet the gauge of time, <br />Nor wore the manacles of space; <br />I felt it in some other clime, <br />I saw it in some other place. <br /> 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, <br /> And lay upon the breast of God.'<br /><br />Matthew Arnold<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morality/
