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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341406" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>John Everett Millais</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now let no passing-bell be tolled,<br>Wail now no dirge of gloom;<br>Nor around purple pall unfold<br>The trappings of the tomb!<br>Dead? No, the Artist doth not die;<br>Enduring as the air, the sky,<br>He sees the mortal years roll by,<br>Indifferent to their doom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With the abiding He abides,<br>Eternally the same;<br>From shore to shore Time's sounding tides<br>Roll and repeat His name.<br>Death, the kind pilot, from His home<br>But speeds Him unto widening foam,<br>Then leaves Him, sunk from sight, to roam<br>The ocean of his Fame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor thus himself alone He lives,<br>But, by the magic known<br>To His ``so potent art,'' He gives<br>Life lasting as His own.<br>See, on the canvas, foiling Fate,<br>With kindling gaze and flashing gait,<br>Dead Statesmen still defend the State,<br>And vindicate the Throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stayed by His hand, the loved, the lost,<br>Still keep their wonted place;<br>And, fondly fooled, our hearts accost<br>The vanished form and face.<br>Beauty, most frail of earthly shows,<br>That fades as fleetly as it blows,<br>By Him arrested, gleams and glows<br>With never-waning grace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His, too, the wizard power to bring,<br>When city-pent we be,<br>The matron Autumn, maiden Spring,<br>Bracken and birchen-tree.<br>Look, 'twixt gray boulders fringed with fern,<br>The tawny torrents chafe and churn,<br>And, lined with light, the amber burn<br>Goes bounding to the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Toll then for Him no funeral knell,<br>Nor around aisle and nave<br>Let sorrow's farewell anthem swell,<br>Nor solemn symbols wave.<br>Your very brightest banners bring,<br>Your gayest flowers! Sing, voices, sing!<br>And let Fame's lofty joybells ring<br>Their greeting at His grave!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</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=341406" data-title="John Everett Millais de Alfred Austin" data-description="Now let no passing-bell be tolled,
Wail now no dirge of gloom;
Nor around purple pall unfold
The trappings of the tomb!
Dead? No, the Artist doth not die;
Enduring as the air, the sky,
He sees the mortal years roll by,
Indifferent to their doom.

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