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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354018" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lady Of La Garaye - Dedication</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FRIEND of old days, of suffering, storm, and strife, <br>Patient and kind through many a wild appeal; <br>In the arena of thy brilliant life <br>Never too busy or too cold to feel: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Companion from whose ever teeming store <br>Of thought and knowledge, happy memory brings <br>So much of social wit and sage's lore, <br>Garnered and gleaned by me as precious things: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Kinsman of him whose very name soon grew <br>Unreal as music heard in pleasant dreams, <br>So vain the hope my girlish fancy drew, <br>So faint and far his vanished presence seems. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To thee I dedicate this record brief <br>Of foreign scenes and deeds too little known; <br>This tale of noble souls who conquered grief <br>By dint of tending sufferings not their own. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou hast known all my life: its pleasant hours, <br>(How many of them have I owed to thee!) <br>Its exercise of intellectual powers, <br>With thoughts of fame and gladness not to be. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou knowest how Death for ever dogged my way, <br>And how of those I loved the best, and those <br>Who loved and pitied me in life's young day, <br>Narrow, and narrower still, the circle grows. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou knowest--for thou hast proved--the dreary shade <br>A first-born's loss casts over lonely days; <br>And gone is now the pale fond smile, that made <br>In my dim future, yet, a path of rays. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gone, the dear comfort of a voice whose sound <br>Came like a beacon-bell, heard clear above <br>The whirl of violent waters surging round; <br>Speaking to shipwrecked ears of help and love. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The joy that budded on my own youth's bloom, <br>When life wore still a glory and a gloss, <br>Is hidden from me in the silent tomb; <br>Smiting with premature unnatural loss, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So that my very soul is wrung with pain, <br>Meeting old friends whom most I love to see. <br>Where are the younger lives, since these remain? <br>I weep the eyes that should have wept for me! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But all the more I cling to those who speak <br>Like thee, in tones unaltered by my change; <br>Greeting my saddened glance, and faded cheek, <br>With the same welcome that seemed sweet and strange </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In early days: when I, of gifts made proud, <br>That could the notice of such men beguile, <br>Stood listening to thee in some brilliant crowd, <br>With the warm triumph of a youthful smile. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! little now remains of all that was! <br>Even for this gift of linking measured words, <br>My heart oft questions, with discouraged pause, <br>Does music linger in the slackening chords? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, friend, I feel not that all power is fled, <br>While offering to thee, for the kindly years, <br>The intangible gift of thought, whose silver thread <br>Heaven keeps untarnished by our bitterest tears. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, in the brooding calm that follows woe, <br>This tale of LA GARAYE I fain would tell,-- <br>As, when some earthly storm hath ceased to blow, <br>And the huge mounting sea hath ceased to swell; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">After the maddening wrecking and the roar, <br>The wild high dash, the moaning sad retreat, <br>Some cold slow wave creeps faintly to the shore, <br>And leaves a white shell at the gazer's feet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Take, then, the poor gift in thy faithful hand; <br>Measure its worth not merely by my own, <br>But hold it dear as gathered from the sand <br>Where so much wreck of youth and hope lies strown. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, if in years to come my words abide-- <br>Words of the dead to stir some living brain-- <br>When thoughtful readers lay my book aside, <br>Musing on all it tells of joy and pain, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Towards thee, good heart, towards thee their thoughts shall roam, <br>Whose unforsaking faith time hath not riven; <br>And to their minds this just award shall come, <br>'Twas a TRUE friend to whom such thanks were given!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Caroline+Elizabeth+Sarah+Norton">Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton</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=354018" data-title="The Lady Of La Garaye - Dedication de Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton" data-description="FRIEND of old days, of suffering, storm, and strife, 
Patient and kind through many a wild appeal; 
In the arena of thy brilliant life 
Never too busy or too cold to feel: 

Companion from whose ever teeming store 
Of thought and knowledge, happy ..."></div>
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