<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115823" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>III. The Dead</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!<br> There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,<br> But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.<br>These laid the world away; poured out the red<br>Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be<br> Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,<br> That men call age; and those who would have been,<br>Their sons, they gave, their immortality.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,<br> Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.<br>Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,<br> And paid his subjects with a royal wage;<br>And nobleness walks in our ways again;<br> And we have come into our heritage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rupert+Brooke">Rupert Brooke</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115823" data-title="III. The Dead de Rupert Brooke" data-description="Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!/ There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,/ But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold./These laid the world away; poured out the red/Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be/ Of work and joy..."></div> </div> </div>

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