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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341970" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dedication</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE SEA gives her shells to the shingle,<br>The earth gives her streams to the sea;<br>They are many, but my gift is single,<br>My verses, the firstfruits of me.<br>Let the wind take the green and the grey leaf,<br>Cast forth without fruit upon air;<br>Take rose-leaf and vine-leaf and bay-leaf<br>Blown loose from the hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night shakes them round me in legions,<br>Dawn drives them before her like dreams;<br>Time sheds them like snows on strange regions,<br>Swept shoreward on infinite streams;<br>Leaves pallid and sombre and ruddy,<br>Dead fruits of the fugitive years;<br>Some stained as with wine and made bloody,<br>And some as with tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some scattered in seven years’ traces,<br>As they fell from the boy that was then;<br>Long left among idle green places,<br>Or gathered but now among men;<br>On seas full of wonder and peril,<br>Blown white round the capes of the north;<br>Or in islands where myrtles are sterile<br>And loves bring not forth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O daughters of dreams and of stories<br>That life is not wearied of yet,<br>Faustine, Fragoletta, Dolores,<br>Félise and Yolande and Juliette,<br>Shall I find you not still, shall I miss you,<br>When sleep, that is true or that seems,<br>Comes back to me hopeless to kiss you,<br>O daughters of dreams?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are past as a slumber that passes,<br>As the dew of a dawn of old time;<br>More frail than the shadows on glasses,<br>More fleet than a wave or a rhyme.<br>As the waves after ebb drawing seaward,<br>When their hollows are full of the night,<br>So the birds that flew singing to me-ward<br>Recede out of sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The songs of dead seasons, that wander<br>On wings of articulate words;<br>Lost leaves that the shore-wind may squander,<br>Light flocks of untameable birds;<br>Some sang to me dreaming in class-time<br>And truant in hand as in tongue;<br>For the youngest were born of boy’s pastime,<br>The eldest are young.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is there shelter while life in them lingers,<br>Is there hearing for songs that recede,<br>Tunes touched from a harp with man’s fingers<br>Or blown with boy’s mouth in a reed?<br>Is there place in the land of your labour,<br>Is there room in your world of delight,<br>Where change has not sorrow for neighbour<br>And day has not night?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In their wings though the sea-wind yet quivers,<br>Will you spare not a space for them there<br>Made green with the running of rivers<br>And gracious with temperate air;<br>In the fields and the turreted cities,<br>That cover from sunshine and rain<br>Fair passions and bountiful pities<br>And loves without stain?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a land of clear colours and stories,<br>In a region of shadowless hours,<br>Where earth has a garment of glories<br>And a murmur of musical flowers;<br>In woods where the spring half uncovers<br>The flush of her amorous face,<br>By the waters that listen for lovers,<br>For these is there place?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the song-birds of sorrow, that muffle<br>Their music as clouds do their fire:<br>For the storm-birds of passion, that ruffle<br>Wild wings in a wind of desire;<br>In the stream of the storm as it settles<br>Blown seaward, borne far from the sun,<br>Shaken loose on the darkness like petals<br>Dropt one after one?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though the world of your hands be more gracious<br>And lovelier in lordship of things<br>Clothed round by sweet art with the spacious<br>Warm heaven of her imminent wings,<br>Let them enter, unfledged and nigh fainting,<br>For the love of old loves and lost times;<br>And receive in your palace of painting<br>This revel of rhymes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though the seasons of man full of losses<br>Make empty the years full of youth,<br>If but one thing be constant in crosses,<br>Change lays not her hand upon truth;<br>Hopes die, and their tombs are for token<br>That the grief as the joy of them ends<br>Ere time that breaks all men has broken<br>The faith between friends.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though the many lights dwindle to one light,<br>There is help if the heaven has one;<br>Though the skies be discrowned of the sunlight<br>And the earth dispossessed of the sun,<br>They have moonlight and sleep for repayment,<br>When, refreshed as a bride and set free,<br>With stars and sea-winds in her raiment,<br>Night sinks on the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Algernon+Charles+Swinburne">Algernon Charles Swinburne</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=341970" data-title="Dedication de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="THE SEA gives her shells to the shingle,
The earth gives her streams to the sea;
They are many, but my gift is single,
My verses, the firstfruits of me.
Let the wind take the green and the grey leaf,
Cast forth without fruit upon air;
Take rose-le..."></div>
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