Yet all hope pleasure from what still remain,
And from the dregs of life hope to receive
What the first sprightly runnings could not give.
I’m tired of waiting for this chymic gold,
Which fools us young and beggars us when old.
Upon the whole, Matthew Arnold holds the balance more evenly than either optimist or pessimist.
. . . Life still
Yields human effort scope.
But since life teems with ill,
Nurse no extravagant hope.