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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115902" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swings the way still by hollow and hill,<br> And all the world's a song;<br>'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,<br> 'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,<br> Spite of your chosen part,<br>I do remember; and I go<br> With laughter in my heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So above the little folk that know not,<br> Out of the white hill-town,<br>High up I clamber; and I remember;<br> And watch the day go down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,<br> And one peak tipped with light;<br>And the air lies still about the hill<br> With the first fear of night;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till mystery down the soundless valley<br> Thunders, and dark is here;<br>And the wind blows, and the light goes,<br> And the night is full of fear,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I know, one night, on some far height,<br> In the tongue I never knew,<br>I yet shall hear the tidings clear<br> From them that were friends of you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They'll call the news from hill to hill,<br> Dark and uncomforted,<br>Earth and sky and the winds; and I<br> Shall know that you are dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall not hear your trentals,<br> Nor eat your arval bread;<br>For the kin of you will surely do<br> Their duty by the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Their little dull greasy eyes will water;<br> They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.<br>They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep<br> Like flies on the cold flesh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They will put pence on your grey eyes,<br> Bind up your fallen chin,<br>And lay you straight, the fools that loved you<br> Because they were your kin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They will praise all the bad about you,<br> And hush the good away,<br>And wonder how they'll do without you,<br> And then they'll go away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But quieter than one sleeping,<br> And stranger than of old,<br>You will not stir for weeping,<br> You will not mind the cold;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But through the night the lips will laugh not,<br> The hands will be in place,<br>And at length the hair be lying still<br> About the quiet face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,<br> And dim and decorous mirth,<br>With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury<br> The lordliest lass of earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving<br> Behind lone-riding you,<br>The heart so high, the heart so living,<br> Heart that they never knew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall not hear your trentals,<br> Nor eat your arval bread,<br>Nor with smug breath tell lies of death<br> To the unanswering dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,<br> The folk who loved you not<br>Will bury you, and go wondering<br> Back home. And you will rot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But laughing and half-way up to heaven,<br> With wind and hill and star,<br>I yet shall keep, before I sleep,<br> Your Ambarvalia.</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>
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<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=115902" data-title="Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia de Rupert Brooke" data-description="Swings the way still by hollow and hill,/ And all the world's a song;/'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,/ 'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'/Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,/ Spite of your chosen part,/I do remember; and..."></div>
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