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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116440" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Thanatopsis</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To him who in the love of nature holds<br>Communion with her visible forms, she speaks<br>A various language; for his gayer hours<br>She has a voice of gladness, and a smile<br>And eloquence of beauty; and she glides<br>Into his darker musings, with a mild<br>And healing sympathy that steals away<br>Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts<br>Of the last bitter hour come like a blight<br>Over thy spirit, and sad images<br>Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,<br>And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,<br>Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--<br>Go forth, under the open sky, and list<br>To Nature's teachings, while from all around--<br>Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--<br>Comes a still voice. Yet a few days, and thee<br>The all-beholding sun shall see no more<br>In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,<br>Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,<br>Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist<br>Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim<br>Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,<br>And, lost each human trace, surrendering up<br>Thine individual being, shalt thou go<br>To mix forever with the elements,<br>To be a brother to the insensible rock<br>And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain<br>Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak<br>Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet not to thine eternal resting-place<br>Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish<br>Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down<br>With patriarchs of the infant world -- with kings,<br>The powerful of the earth -- the wise, the good,<br>Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,<br>All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills<br>Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, -- the vales<br>Stretching in pensive quietness between;<br>The venerable woods -- rivers that move<br>In majesty, and the complaining brooks<br>That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,<br>Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--<br>Are but the solemn decorations all<br>Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,<br>The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,<br>Are shining on the sad abodes of death<br>Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread<br>The globe are but a handful to the tribes<br>That slumber in its bosom. -- Take the wings<br>Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,<br>Or lose thyself in the continuous woods<br>Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,<br>Save his own dashings -- yet the dead are there:<br>And millions in those solitudes, since first<br>The flight of years began, have laid them down<br>In their last sleep -- the dead reign there alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So shalt thou rest -- and what if thou withdraw<br>In silence from the living, and no friend<br>Take note of thy departure? All that breathe<br>Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh<br>When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care<br>Plod on, and each one as before will chase<br>His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave<br>Their mirth and their employments, and shall come<br>And make their bed with thee. As the long train<br>Of ages glides away, the sons of men--<br>The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes<br>In the full strength of years, matron and maid,<br>The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--<br>Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,<br>By those, who in their turn, shall follow them.<br>So live, that when thy summons comes to join<br>The innumerable caravan, which moves<br>To that mysterious realm, where each shall take<br>His chamber in the silent halls of death,<br>Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,<br>Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed<br>By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave<br>Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch<br>About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</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=116440" data-title="Thanatopsis de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="To him who in the love of nature holds/Communion with her visible forms, she speaks/A various language; for his gayer hours/She has a voice of gladness, and a smile/And eloquence of beauty; and she glides/Into his darker musings, with a mild/And h..."></div>
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