Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342080" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Halt Before Rome--September 1867</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it so, that the sword is broken,<br> Our sword, that was halfway drawn?<br>Is it so, that the light was a spark,<br>That the bird we hailed as the lark<br>Sang in her sleep in the dark,<br>And the song we took for a token<br> Bore false witness of dawn?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spread in the sight of the lion,<br> Surely, we said, is the net<br>Spread but in vain, and the snare<br>Vain; for the light is aware,<br>And the common, the chainless air,<br>Of his coming whom all we cry on;<br> Surely in vain is it set.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Surely the day is on our side,<br> And heaven, and the sacred sun;<br>Surely the stars, and the bright<br>Immemorial inscrutable night:<br>Yea, the darkness, because of our light,<br>Is no darkness, but blooms as a bower-side<br> When the winter is over and done;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blooms underfoot with young grasses<br> Green, and with leaves overhead,<br>Windflowers white, and the low<br>New-dropped blossoms of snow;<br>And or ever the May winds blow,<br>And or ever the March wind passes,<br> Flames with anemones red.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We are here in the world's bower-garden,<br> We that have watched out the snow.<br>Surely the fruitfuller showers,<br>The splendider sunbeams are ours;<br>Shall winter return on the flowers,<br>And the frost after April harden,<br> And the fountains in May not flow?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have in our hands the shining<br> And the fire in our hearts of a star.<br>Who are we that our tongues should palter,<br>Hearts bow down, hands falter,<br>Who are clothed as with flame from the altar,<br>That the kings of the earth, repining,<br> Far off, watch from afar?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Woe is ours if we doubt or dissemble,<br> Woe, if our hearts not abide.<br>Are our chiefs not among us, we said,<br>Great chiefs, living and dead,<br>To lead us glad to be led?<br>For whose sake, if a man of us tremble,<br> He shall not be on our side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What matter if these lands tarry,<br> That tarried (we said) not of old?<br>France, made drunken by fate,<br>England, that bore up the weight<br>Once of men's freedom, a freight<br>Holy, but heavy to carry<br> For hands overflowing with gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though this be lame, and the other<br> Fleet, but blind from the sun,<br>And the race be no more to these,<br>Alas! nor the palm to seize,<br>Who are weary and hungry of ease,<br>Yet, O Freedom, we said, O our mother,<br> Is there not left to thee one?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is there not left of thy daughters,<br> Is there not one to thine hand?<br>Fairer than these, and of fame<br>Higher from of old by her name;<br>Washed in her tears, and in flame<br>Bathed as in baptism of waters,<br> Unto all men a chosen land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her hope in her heart was broken,<br> Fire was upon her, and clomb,<br>Hiding her, high as her head;<br>And the world went past her, and said<br>(We heard it say) she was dead;<br>And now, behold, she bath spoken,<br> She that was dead, saying, &quot;Rome.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O mother of all men's nations,<br> Thou knowest if the deaf world heard!<br>Heard not now to her lowest<br>Depths, where the strong blood slowest<br>Beats at her bosom, thou knowest,<br>In her toils, in her dim tribulations,<br> Rejoiced not, hearing the word.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sorrowful, bound unto sorrow,<br> The woe-worn people, and all<br>That of old were discomforted,<br>And men that famish for bread,<br>And men that mourn for their dead,<br>She bade them be glad on the morrow,<br> Who endured in the day of her thrall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The blind, and the people in prison,<br> Souls without hope, without home,<br>How glad were they all that heard!<br>When the winged white flame of the word<br>Passed over men's dust, and stirred<br>Death; for Italia was risen,<br> And risen her light upon Rome.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The light of her sword in the gateway<br> Shone, an unquenchable flame,<br>Bloodless, a sword to release,<br>A light from the eyes of peace,<br>To bid grief utterly cease,<br>And the wrong of the old world straightway<br> Pass from the face of her fame:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hers, whom we turn to and cry on,<br> Italy, mother of men:<br>From the light of the face of her glory,<br>At the sound of the storm of her story,<br>That the sanguine shadows and hoary<br>Should flee from the foot of the lion,<br> Lion-like, forth of his den.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As the answering of thunder to thunder<br> Is the storm-beaten sound of her past;<br>As the calling of sea unto sea<br>Is the noise of her years yet to be;<br>For this ye knew not is she,<br>Whose bonds are broken in sunder;<br> This is she at the last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So spake we aloud, high-minded,<br> Full of our will; and behold,<br>The speech that was halfway spoken<br>Breaks, as a pledge that is broken,<br>As a king's pledge, leaving in token<br>Grief only for high hopes blinded,<br> New grief grafted on old.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We halt by the walls of the city,<br> Within sound of the clash of her chain.<br>Hearing, we know that in there<br>The lioness chafes in her lair,<br>Shakes the storm of her hair,<br>Struggles in hands without pity,<br> Roars to the lion in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whose hand is stretched forth upon her?<br> Whose curb is white with her foam?<br>Clothed with the cloud of his deeds,<br>Swathed in the shroud of his creeds,<br>Who is this that has trapped her and leads,<br>Who turns to despair and dishonour<br> Her name, her name that was Rome?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over fields without harvest or culture,<br> Over hordes without honour or love,<br>Over nations that groan with their kings,<br>As an imminent pestilence flings<br>Swift death from her shadowing wings,<br>So he, who hath claws as a vulture,<br> Plumage and beak as a dove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He saith, &quot;I am pilot and haven,<br> Light and redemption I am<br>Unto souls overlaboured,&quot; he saith;<br>And to all men the blast of his breath<br>Is a savour of death unto death;<br>And the Dove of his worship a raven,<br> And a wolf-cub the life-giving Lamb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He calls his sheep as a shepherd,<br> Calls from the wilderness home,<br>&quot;Come unto me and be fed,&quot;<br>To feed them with ashes for bread<br>And grass from the graves of the dead,<br>Leaps on the fold as a leopard,<br> Slays, and says, &quot;I am Rome,&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rome, having rent her in sunder,<br> With the clasp of an adder he clasps;<br>Swift to shed blood are his feet,<br>And his lips, that have man for their meat,<br>Smoother than oil, and more sweet<br>Than honey, but hidden thereunder<br> Festers the poison of asps.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As swords are his tender mercies,<br> His kisses as mortal stings;<br>Under his hallowing hands<br>Life dies down in all lands;<br>Kings pray to him, prone where he stands,<br>And his blessings, as other men's curses,<br> Disanoint where they consecrate kings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With an oil of unclean consecration,<br> With effusion of blood and of tears,<br>With uplifting of cross and of keys,<br>Priest, though thou hallow us these,<br>Yet even as they cling to thy knees<br>Nation awakens by nation,<br> King by king disappears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How shall the spirit be loyal<br> To the shell of a spiritless thing?<br>Erred once, in only a word,<br>The sweet great song that we heard<br>Poured upon Tuscany, erred,<br>Calling a crowned man royal<br> That was no more than a king.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sea-eagle of English feather,<br> A song-bird beautiful-souled,<br>She knew not them that she sang;<br>The golden trumpet that rang<br>From Florence, in vain for them, sprang<br>As a note in the nightingales' weather<br> Far over Fiesole rolled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She saw not--happy, not seeing -<br> Saw not as we with her eyes<br>Aspromonte; she felt<br>Never the heart in her melt<br>As in us when the news was dealt<br>Melted all hope out of being,<br> Dropped all dawn from the skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In that weary funereal season,<br> In that heart-stricken grief-ridden time,<br>The weight of a king and the worth,<br>With anger and sorrowful mirth,<br>We weighed in the balance of earth,<br>And light was his word as a treason,<br> And heavy his crown as a crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Banners of kings shall ye follow<br> None, and have thrones on your side<br>None; ye shall gather and grow<br>Silently, row upon row,<br>Chosen of Freedom to go<br>Gladly where darkness may swallow,<br> Gladly where death may divide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Have we not men with us royal,<br> Men the masters of things?<br>In the days when our life is made new,<br>All souls perfect and true<br>Shall adore whom their forefathers slew;<br>And these indeed shall be loyal,<br> And those indeed shall be kings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet for a space they abide with us,<br> Yet for a little they stand,<br>Bearing the heat of the day.<br>When their presence is taken away,<br>We shall wonder and worship, and say,<br>&quot;Was not a star on our side with us?<br> Was not a God at our hand?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These, O men, shall ye honour,<br> Liberty only, and these.<br>For thy sake and for all men's and mine,<br>Brother, the crowns of them shine<br>Lighting the way to her shrine,<br>That our eyes may be fastened upon her,<br> That our hands may encompass her knees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In this day is the sign of her shown to you;<br> Choose ye, to live or to die,<br>Now is her harvest in hand;<br>Now is her light in the land;<br>Choose ye, to sink or to stand,<br>For the might of her strength is made known to you<br> Now, and her arm is on high.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Serve not for any man's wages,<br> Pleasure nor glory nor gold;<br>Not by her side are they won<br>Who saith unto each of you, &quot;Son,<br>Silver and gold have I none;<br>I give but the love of all ages,<br> And the life of my people of old.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fear not for any man's terrors;<br> Wait not for any man's word;<br>Patiently, each in his place,<br>Gird up your loins to the race;<br>Following the print of her pace,<br>Purged of desires and of errors,<br> March to the tune ye have heard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">March to the tune of the voice of her,<br> Breathing the balm of her breath,<br>Loving the light of her skies.<br>Blessed is he on whose eyes<br>Dawns but her light as he dies;<br>Blessed are ye that make choice of her,<br> Equal to life and to death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye that when faith is nigh frozen,<br> Ye that when hope is nigh gone,<br>Still, over wastes, over waves,<br>Still, among wrecks, among graves,<br>Follow the splendour that saves,<br>Happy, her children, her chosen,<br> Loyally led of her on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sheep of the priests, and the cattle<br> That feed in the penfolds of kings,<br>Sleek is their flock and well-fed;<br>Hardly she giveth you bread,<br>Hardly a rest for the head,<br>Till the day of the blast of the battle<br> And the storm of the wind of her wings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye that have joy in your living,<br> Ye that are careful to live,<br>You her thunders go by:<br>Live, let men be, let them lie,<br>Serve your season, and die;<br>Gifts have your masters for giving,<br> Gifts hath not Freedom to give;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She, without shelter or station,<br> She, beyond limit or bar,<br>Urges to slumberless speed<br>Armies that famish, that bleed,<br>Sowing their lives for her seed,<br>That their dust may rebuild her a nation,<br> That their souls may relight her a star.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Happy are all they that follow her;<br> Them shall no trouble cast down;<br>Though she slay them, yet shall they trust in her,<br>For unsure there is nought nor unjust in her,<br>Blemish is none, neither rust in her;<br>Though it threaten, the night shall not swallow her,<br> Tempest and storm shall not drown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hither, O strangers, that cry for her,<br> Holding your lives in your hands,<br>Hither, for here is your light,<br>Where Italy is, and her might;<br>Strength shall be given you to fight,<br>Grace shall be given you to die for her,<br> For the flower, for the lady of lands;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Turn ye, whose anguish oppressing you<br> Crushes, asleep and awake,<br>For the wrong which is wrought as of yore;<br>That Italia may give of her store,<br>Having these things to give and no more;<br>Only her hands on you, blessing you;<br> Only a pang for her sake;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only her bosom to die on;<br> Only her heart for a home,<br>And a name with her children to be<br>From Calabrian to Adrian sea<br>Famous in cities made free<br>That ring to the roar of the lion<br> Proclaiming republican Rome.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=342080" data-title="The Halt Before Rome--September 1867 de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="Is it so, that the sword is broken,
 Our sword, that was halfway drawn?
Is it so, that the light was a spark,
That the bird we hailed as the lark
Sang in her sleep in the dark,
And the song we took for a token
 Bore false witness of dawn?

Spread ..."></div>
</div>
</div>