Look, the world tempts our eye,
And we would know it all!
We map the starry sky,
We mine this earthen ball,
We measure the sea-tides, we number the sea-sands ;
We scrutinize the dates
Of long-past human things,
The bounds of effac'd states,
The lines of deceas'd kings ;
We search out dead men's words, and works of dead men's hands;
We shut our eyes, and muse
How our own minds are made,
What springs of thought they use,
How righten'd, how betray'd;
And spend our wit to name what most employ unnam'd;
But still, as we proceed,
The mass swells more and more
Of volumes yet to read,
Of secrets yet to explore.
Our hair grows grey, our eyes are dimm'd, our heat is tamed.
We rest our faculties,
And thus address the Gods:
'True science if there is,
It stays in your abodes;
Man's measures cannot mete the immeasurable All;
“I do not think altogether the worse of a book for having survived the author a generation or two. I have more confidence in the dead than the living.” — Hazlitt
17 September 2014
We Search Out Dead Men's Words
Matthew Arnold, "Empedocles on Etna" (lines 317-341), The Poems of Matthew Arnold (London: Oxford University Press, 1922), pp. 108-109: