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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355096" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegiacs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;<br>Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.<br>Not as of old, like Homeric Achilles, ??de? ya???,<br>Joyous knight-errant of God, thirsting for labour and strife;<br>No more on magical steed borne free through the regions of ether,<br>But, like the hack which I ride, selling my sinew for gold.<br>Fruit-bearing autumn is gone; let the sad quiet winter hang o'er me-<br>What were the spring to a soul laden with sorrow and shame?<br>Blossoms would fret me with beauty; my heart has no time to bepraise them;<br>Gray rock, bough, surge, cloud, waken no yearning within.<br>Sing not, thou sky-lark above! even angels pass hushed by the weeper.<br>Scream on, ye sea-fowl! my heart echoes your desolate cry.<br>Sweep the dry sand on, thou wild wind, to drift o'er the shell and the sea-<br>weed;<br>Sea-weed and shell, like my dreams, swept down the pitiless tide.<br>Just is the wave which uptore us; 'tis Nature's own law which condemns us;<br>Woe to the weak who, in pride, build on the faith of the sand!<br>Joy to the oak of the mountain: he trusts to the might of the rock-clefts;<br>Deeply he mines, and in peace feeds on the wealth of the stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Morte Sands, Devonshire,<br>February 1849.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Kingsley">Charles Kingsley</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=355096" data-title="Elegiacs de Charles Kingsley" data-description="Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.
Not as of old, like Homeric Achilles, ??de? ya???,
Joyous knight-errant of God, thirsting for labour and strife;
No more on m..."></div>
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