• Ah, love, let us be true
• To one another! for the world, which seems
• To lie before us like a land of dreams,
• So various, so beautiful, so new,
• Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
• Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
• And we are here as on a darkling plain
• Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
• Where ignorant armies clash by night.

— arnold, 29-37 dover beach