Matthew Arnold — The World and the Quietist

       &nbsp"Why, when the world's great mind        &nbspHath finally inclined, Why," you say, Critias, "be debating still?        &nbspWhy, with these mournful rhymes        &nbspLearn'd in more languid climes,        &nbspBlame our activity        &nbspWho, with such passionate will,        &nbspAre what we mean to be?"        &nbspCritias, long since, I know        &nbsp(For Fate decreed it so), Long since the world hath set its heart to live;        &nbspLong since, with credulous zeal        &nbsp       &nbspIt turns life's mighty wheel,        &nbspStill doth for labourers send        &nbsp       &nbspWho still their labour give,        &nbspAnd still expects an end.        &nbspYet, as the wheel flies round,        &nbspWith no ungrateful sound Do adverse voices fall on the world's ear.        &nbspDeafen'd by his own stir        &nbspThe rugged labourer        &nbspCaught not till then a sense        &nbspSo glowing and so near        &nbsp       &nbspOf his omnipotence.        &nbspSo, when the feast grew loud        &nbspIn Susa's palace proud, A white-robed slave stole to the Great King's side.        &nbspHe spake—the Great King heard;        &nbspFelt the slow-rolling word        &nbspSwell his attentive soul;        &nbspBreathed deeply as it died,        &nbsp       &nbspAnd drain'd his mighty bowl.