A Question (to Fausta)

A Question (to Fausta) by Matthew Arnold

Joy comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows
        Like the wave;
Change doth unknit the tranquil strength of men.
    Love lends life a little grace,
    A few sad smiles; and then,
    Both are laid in one cold place,
        In the grave.
Dreams dawn and fly, friends smile and die
        Like spring flowers;
Our vaunted life in one long funeral.
    Men dig graves with bitter tears
    For their dead hopes; and all,
    Mazed with doubts and sick with fears,
        Count the hours.
We count the hours! These dreams of ours,
        False and hollow,
Do we go hence and find they are not dead?
    Joys we dimly apprehend,
    Faces that smiled and fled,
    Hopes born here, and born to end,
        Shall we follow?

This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.