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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348695" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Unloved</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">These are the women whom no man has loved.<br>Year after year, day after day has moved.<br>These hearts with many longings, and with tears,<br>And with content; they have received the years<br>With empty hands, expecting no good thing;<br>Life has passed by their doors, not entering.<br>In solitude, and without vain desire,<br>They have warmed themselves beside a lonely fire;<br>And, without scorn, beheld as in a glass<br>The blown and painted leaves of Beauty pass.<br>Their souls have been made fragrant with the spice<br>Of costly virtues lit for sacrifice;<br>They have accepted life, the unpaid debt,<br>And looked for no vain day of reckoning. Yet<br>They too in certain windless summer hours<br>Have felt the stir of dreams, and dreamed the powers<br>And the exemptions and the miracles<br>And the cruelty of Beauty. Citadels<br>Of many-walled and deeply-moated hearts<br>Have suddenly surrendered to the arts<br>Of so compelling magic; entering,<br>They have esteemed it but a little thing<br>To have won so great a conquest; and with haste<br>They have cast down, and utterly laid waste,<br>Tower upon tower, and sapped their roots with flame;<br>And passed on that eternity of shame<br>Which is the way of Beauty on the earth.<br>And they have shaken laughter from its mirth,<br>To be a sound of trumpets and of horns<br>Crying the battle-cry of those red morns<br>Against a sky of triumph. On some nights<br>Of delicate Springtide, when the hesitant lights<br>Begin to fade, and glimmer, and grow warm,<br>And all the softening air is quick with storm,<br>And the ardours of the young year, entering in,<br>Flush the grey earth with buds; when trees begin<br>To feel a trouble mounting from their roots,<br>And all their green life blossoming into shoots,<br>They too, in some obscure, unblossoming strife,<br>Have felt the stirring of the sap of life.<br>And they have wept, with bowed heads; in the street<br>They hear the twittering of little feet,<br>The rocking of the cradles in their hearts.<br> <br>This is a mood, and, as a mood, departs<br>With the dried tears; and they resume the tale<br>Of the dropt stitches; these must never fail<br>For a dream's sake; nor, for a memory,<br>The telling of a patient rosary.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Arthur+Symons">Arthur Symons</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=348695" data-title="The Unloved de Arthur Symons" data-description="These are the women whom no man has loved.
Year after year, day after day has moved.
These hearts with many longings, and with tears,
And with content; they have received the years
With empty hands, expecting no good thing;
Life has passed by thei..."></div>
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