Hither and thither spins The wind-borne mirroring soul, A thousand glimpses wins, And never sees a whole. - Matthew Arnold

Forgive me, masters of the mind! At whose behest I long ago So much unlearnt, so much resign'd — I come not here to be your foe! I seek these anchorites, not in ruth, To curse and to deny your truth; Not as their friend, or child, I speak! But as, on some far northern strand, Thinking of his own Gods, a Greek In pity and mournful awe might stand Before some fallen Runic stone — For both were faiths, and both are gone.

On the breast of that huge Mississippi of falsehood called History, a foam-bell more or less is no consequence.

And amongst us one, Who most has suffer’d, takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne.