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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117705" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Man and His Image</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All day the nations climb and crawl and pray<br> In one long pilgrimage to one white shrine,<br>Where sleeps a saint whose pardon, like his peace,<br> Is wide as death, as common, as divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His statue in an aureole fills the shrine,<br> The reckless nightingale, the roaming fawn,<br>Share the broad blessing of his lifted hands,<br> Under the canopy, above the lawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But one strange night, a night of gale and flood,<br> A sound came louder than the wild wind's tone;<br>The grave-gates shook and opened: and one stood<br> Blue in the moonlight, rotten to the bone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then on the statue, graven with holy smiles,<br> There came another smile - tremendous - one<br>Of an Egyptian god. 'Why should you rise?<br> 'Do I not guard your secret from the sun?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The nations come; they kneel among the flowers<br> Sprung from your blood, blossoms of May and June,<br>Which do not poison them - is it not strange?<br> Speak!' And the dead man shuddered in the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shall I not cry the truth?' - the dead man cowered -<br> Is it not sad, with life so tame and cold,<br>What earth should fade into the sun's white fires<br> With the best jest in all its tales untold?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'If I should cry that in this shrine lie hid<br> Stories that Satan from his mouth would spew;<br>Wild tales that men in hell tell hoarsely - speak!<br> Saint and Deliverer! Should I slander you?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slowly the cowering corse reared up its head,<br> 'Nay, I am vile ... but when for all to see,<br>You stand there, pure and painless - death of life!<br> Let the stars fall - I say you slander me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'You make me perfect, public, colourless;<br> You make my virtues sit at ease - you lie!<br>For mine were never easy - lost or saved,<br> I had a soul - I was. And where am I?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is my good? the little real hoard,<br> The secret tears, the sudden chivalries;<br>The tragic love, the futile triumph - where?<br> Thief, dog, and son of devils - where are these?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will lift up my head: in leprous loves<br> Lost, and the soul's dishonourable scars -<br>By God I was a better man than This<br> That stands and slanders me to all the stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Come down!' And with an awful cry, the corse<br> Sprang on the sacred tomb of many tales,<br>And stone and bone, locked in a loathsome strife,<br> Swayed to the singing of the nightingales.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then one was thrown: and where the statue stood<br> Under the canopy, above the lawn,<br>The corse stood; grey and lean, with lifted hands<br> Raised in tremendous welcome to the dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now let all nations climb and crawl and pray;<br> Though I be basest of my old red clan,<br>They shall not scale, with cries or sacrifice,<br> The stature of the spirit of a man.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=G.K.+Chesterton">G.K. Chesterton</a> from <i>The Wild Knight and Other Poems</i><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=117705" data-title="A Man and His Image de G.K. Chesterton" data-description="All day the nations climb and crawl and pray/ In one long pilgrimage to one white shrine,/Where sleeps a saint whose pardon, like his peace,/ Is wide as death, as common, as divine./His statue in an aureole fills the shrine,/ The reckless nighting..."></div>
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