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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358468" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode for New Year's Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth,<br>Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth<br>And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth.<br>And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art,<br>Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it,<br>Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart,<br>For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part.<br>The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God’s hate cover it,<br>Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought,<br>Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought<br>Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm<br>That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught<br>Shall pour red wrath upon us over a world deform.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thrice happy, O Despoina, were the men who were alive<br>In the great age and the golden age when still the cycle ran<br>On upward curve and easily, for them both maid and man<br>And beast and tree and spirit in the green earth could thrive.<br>But now one age is ending, and God calls home the stars<br>And looses the wheel of the ages and sends it spinning back<br>Amid the death of nations, and points a downward track,<br>And madness is come over us and great and little wars.<br>He has not left one valley, one isle of fresh and green<br>Where old friends could forgather amid the howling wreck.<br>It’s vainly we are praying. We cannot, cannot check<br>The Power who slays and puts aside the beauty that has been.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It’s truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart’s complaining<br>For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear,<br>Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining<br>And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear<br>The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead.<br>But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts<br>Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped<br>Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it<br>Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts?<br>Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it:<br>Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done.<br>And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun<br>And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill,<br>And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears<br>The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill?<br>He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears,<br>And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee away<br>Into some other country beyond the rosy West,<br>To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at rest<br>From the rankling hate of God and the outworn world’s decay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clive+Staples+Lewis">Clive Staples Lewis</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=358468" data-title="Ode for New Year's Day de Clive Staples Lewis" data-description="Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth,
Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth
And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth.
And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art,
Bow down thine h..."></div>
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