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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342027" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mater Dolorosa</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,<br>In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,<br>In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,<br>With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?<br>She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,<br>Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,<br>Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and men's hearts break.<br>This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were<br>Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.<br>This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;<br>Whose face was a light upon Greece, was a fire upon Rome.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it now not surely a vain thing, a foolish and vain,<br>To sit down by her, mourn to her, serve her, partake in the pain?<br>She is grey with the dust of time on his manifold ways,<br>Where her faint feet stumble and falter through year-long days.<br>Shall she help us at all, O fools, give fruit or give fame,<br>Who herself is a name despised, a rejected name?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have not served her for guerdon. If any do so,<br>That his mouth may be sweet with such honey, we care not to know.<br>We have drunk from a wine-unsweetened, a perilous cup,<br>A draught very bitter. The kings of the earth stood up,<br>And the rulers took counsel together, to smite her and slay;<br>And the blood of her wounds is given us to drink today.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Can these bones live? or the leaves that are dead leaves bud?<br>Or the dead blood drawn from her veins be in your veins blood?<br>Will ye gather up water again that was drawn and shed?<br>In the blood is the life of the veins, and her veins are dead.<br>For the lives that are over are over, and past things past;<br>She had her day, and it is not; was first, and is last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it nothing unto you then, all ye that pass by,<br>If her breath be left in her lips, if she live now or die?<br>Behold now, O people, and say if she be not fair,<br>Whom your fathers followed to find her, with praise and prayer,<br>And rejoiced, having found her, though roof they had none nor bread;<br>But ye care not; what is it to you if her day be dead?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was well with our fathers; their sound was in all men's lands;<br>There was fire in their hearts, and the hunger of fight in their<br>hands.<br>Naked and strong they went forth in her strength like flame,<br>For her love's and her name's sake of old, her republican name.<br>But their children, by kings made quiet, by priests made wise,<br>Love better the heat of their hearths than the light of her eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Are they children of these thy children indeed, who have sold,<br>O golden goddess, the light of thy face for gold?<br>Are they sons indeed of the sons of thy dayspring of hope,<br>Whose lives are in fief of an emperor, whose souls of a Pope?<br>Hide then thine head, O beloved; thy time is done;<br>Thy kingdom is broken in heaven, and blind thy sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What sleep is upon you, to dream she indeed shall rise,<br>When the hopes are dead in her heart as the tears in her eyes?<br>If ye sing of her dead, will she stir? if ye weep for her, weep?<br>Come away now, leave her; what hath she to do but sleep?<br>But ye that mourn are alive, and have years to be;<br>And life is good, and the world is wiser than we.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, wise is the world and mighty, with years to give,<br>And years to promise; but how long now shall it live?<br>And foolish and poor is faith, and her ways are bare,<br>Till she find the way of the sun, and the morning air.<br>In that hour shall this dead face shine as the face of the sun,<br>And the soul of man and her soul and the world's be one.</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=342027" data-title="Mater Dolorosa de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer o..."></div>
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