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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350905" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THEY tell you the poet is useless and empty the sound of his lyre, <br>That science has made him a phantom, and thinned to a shadow his fire: <br>Yet reformer has never demolished a dungeon or den of the foe <br>But the flame of the soul of a poet pulsated in every blow. <br> <br>They tell you he hinders with tinklings, with gags from an obsolete stage, <br>The dramas of deed and the worship of Laws in a practical age: <br>But the deeds of to-day are the children of magical dreams he has sung, <br>And the Laws are ineffable Fires that from niggardly heaven he wrung! <br> <br>The bosoms of women he sang of are heaving to-day in our maids: <br>The God that he drew from the Silence our woes or our weariness aids: <br>Not a maxim has needled through Time, but a poet had feathered its shaft, <br>Not a law is a boon to the people but he has dictated its draft. <br> <br>And why do we fight for our fellows? For Liberty why do we long? <br>Because with the core of our nerve-cells are woven the lightnings of song! <br>For the poet for ages illumined the animal dreams of our sires, <br>And his Thought-Become-Flesh is the matrix of all our unselfish desires! <br> <br>Yea, why are we fain for the Beautiful? Why should we die for the Right? <br>Because through the forested æons, in spite of the priests of the Night, <br>Undeterred by the faggot or cross, uncorrupted by glory or gold, <br>To our mothers the poet his Vision of Goodness and Beauty has told. <br> <br>When, comrades, we thrill to the message of speaker in highway or hall, <br>The voice of the poet is reaching the silenter poet in all: <br>And again, as of old, when the flames are to leap up the turrets of Wrong, <br>Shall the torch of the New Revolution be lit from the words of a Song</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bernard+O%27Dowd">Bernard O'Dowd</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=350905" data-title="The Poet de Bernard O'Dowd" data-description="THEY tell you the poet is useless and empty the sound of his lyre, 
That science has made him a phantom, and thinned to a shadow his fire: 
Yet reformer has never demolished a dungeon or den of the foe 
But the flame of the soul of a poet pulsated..."></div>
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