Empedocles on Aetna

clipped from en.wikisource.org

Why should I say that life need yield but moderate bliss?

Shall we, with temper spoil'd,

Health sapp'd by living ill,

And judgement all embroil'd

By sadness and self-will,

Shall we judge what for man is not true bliss or is?

Is it so small a thing

To have enjoy'd the sun,

To have lived light in the spring,

To have loved, to have thought, to have done;

To have advanc'd true friends, and beat down baffling foes;

That we must feign a bliss

Of doubtful future date,

And, while we dream on this,

Lose all our present state,

And relegate to worlds yet distant our repose?

From Empedocles on Etna by Matthew Arnold