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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354854" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Finality</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A HEAVY and desolate sense of life<br>Is all the Past makes mine—and still<br>A cold contempt of Fortune’s strife,<br>Despite the dread<br>Of want of bread,<br>’Numbs, clogs like ice, my weary will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How little is there on the earth<br>That I at length can venerate?<br>I see at most one world-wide dearth<br>Of wisdom free,<br>True piety,<br>Of noble love, of honest hate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With little hope of higher good<br>For Man, for me, of earthly bliss,<br>Yet I withstand as I’ve withstood,<br>The evil plan<br>Man teaches man<br>Of valuing all things amiss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There’s nothing under the godlike sun<br>Worth loving to be bought or sold!—<br>The only wealth by labour won<br>Besides the food<br>Supplying blood,<br>Is human excellence—not gold!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All other things designed or done<br>Their only real value miss,<br>But in so far as this—each one<br>And all sustain,<br>Adorn, explain,<br>Secure and enter into this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beauty itself were nothing—no,<br>But for Love’s golden heart and eye;<br>Nay Truth were dead but for the glow<br>Around its shrine<br>Of minds divine,<br>Of martyr minds that may not die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why pile we stone on stone to raise<br>Jail, fane, or public hall—why plan<br>Fortress or tower for future days,<br>Yet leave unbuilt<br>To wrong or guilt<br>That nobler pile—the Mind of Man?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With finer wool the land to dower,<br>Behold how strongly we are moved—<br>Even while a Nation’s thinking power<br>Unvalued, yet<br>Unnamed, we let<br>All bestial grow, being unimprov’d!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Can then the seed in God’s right hand<br>Of Happiness, when shed below,<br>Find fitting nurture in a land<br>Of wilding soil<br>And selfish toil?<br>I tell ye Time shall answer, No!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tell ye that all public good,<br>All individual worth and peace,<br>All youthful nobleness of mood,<br>Like rose-leaves thin<br>Must wither in<br>The sordid breath of days like these.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O for a prophet’s tongue to teach<br>The truths I cannot else reveal,<br>O for a conqueror’s power to reach<br>The holy aim<br>That doth inflame<br>And nerve me with a martyr’s zeal!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis vain—the sacred wish is vain!<br>Men but renew the strifes of old:<br>But value with a greed insane<br>All devilish skill,<br>All splendid ill<br>That fetters Truth with chains of gold!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Harpur">Charles Harpur</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=354854" data-title="Finality de Charles Harpur" data-description="A HEAVY and desolate sense of life
Is all the Past makes mine—and still
A cold contempt of Fortune’s strife,
Despite the dread
Of want of bread,
’Numbs, clogs like ice, my weary will.

How little is there on the earth
That I at length can ve..."></div>
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