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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348501" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Garden of the Sea</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE infinite garden of the sea is His <br> To play in. Gravely smiling He resigns <br> To man his choice—this rugged plot of earth, <br> Watches man tear it with his deep canals, <br> Wound it with iron rails, scar it with roads, <br> And spot its pleasant freshness with the sore <br> Of festering cities, oozing heavy smoke. <br> He sees and He forgives. Then gently takes <br> His pliant sea into His yearning hands— <br> As an old mother might caress a doll <br> When all her sons are dead—and wistfully <br> He moulds it. O, that He might so thrust man— <br> That interloping soul of stubbornness— <br> The solitary irreconcilable <br> Of His subservient Universe—within <br> The grim, unalterable grooves of law! <br> But, ah! the sea, the fecund woman-sea, <br> Is His to fashion as He wills! He girds <br> It round with whitely gleaming paths of beach; <br> Then, at His word, the blossoms of the spray <br> Rise on their swaying wave-stalks, bloom and break, <br> And scatter desolate petals on the foam. <br> League-long His flower-bordered avenues <br> In bending sward of blossom run. Lo, now <br> A winter comes unwonted, heaping high <br> <br> His garden world with snow of wasted blooms. <br> Or Spring sweeps in resistless, and the sea <br> Shimmers—an orchard in her nuptial white! <br> And sometimes He will smooth His garden plot, <br> And cover with trim tapestry of grass <br> Its restless beauty, till there shyly break <br> The daisies through, like pale hands timorous <br> And fragile, groping blindly to the sun. <br> Sometimes he plans great curving pathways, where <br> 'Neath sullen shoulders of cool greenery <br> The shadows crouch, and high above the sun <br> Whispers his sunny secrets to the boughs <br> That sway and ripple everlastingly. <br> And sometimes, hidden by a moving ridge <br> From ships that flit like furtive white moths by, <br> The Master of the garden gravely walks <br> The cool green paths in reverie along: <br> Ah, what if I could turn into that lane <br> Of pulsing wave, and see Him pacing there, <br> As once of old they saw Him, with that look <br> Of wistful sadness on His old kind face!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Arthur+Henry+Adams">Arthur Henry Adams</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=348501" data-title="The Garden of the Sea de Arthur Henry Adams" data-description="THE infinite garden of the sea is His 
 To play in. Gravely smiling He resigns 
 To man his choice—this rugged plot of earth, 
 Watches man tear it with his deep canals, 
 Wound it with iron rails, scar it with roads, 
 And spot its pleasant fre..."></div>
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