Who prop, thou ask’st, in these bad days, my mind?
He much, the old man, who, clearest-soul’d of men,
Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen, 11
And Tmolus’ hill, and Smyrna’s bay, though blind.
Much he, whose friendship I not long since won,
That halting slave, who in Nicopolis
Taught Arrian, when Vespasian’s brutal son
Clear’d Rome of what most sham’d him. But be his
My special thanks, whose even-balanc’d soul,
From first youth tested up to extreme old age,
Business could not make dull, nor Passion wild:
Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole:
The mellow glory of the Attic stage;
Singer of sweet Colonus, and its child.
Public-domain source text
To a Friend<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-10" id="noteref-10" epub:type="noteref">10</a>
by Matthew Arnold
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