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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374145" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dead To The Living</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN the childhood of April, while purple woods <br>With the young year's blood in them smiled, <br>I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields, <br>And stood by the grave of the child. <br>And the pain awoke that is never dead <br>Though it sometimes sleeps, and again <br>It set its teeth in this heart of mine, <br>And fastened its claws in my brain: <br>For it seemed so hard that the little hands <br>And the little well-loved head <br>Should be out of reach of my living lips, <br>And be side by side with the dead-- <br>Not side by side with us who had loved, <br>But with these who had never seen <br>The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair, <br>And the eyes of my baby-queen. <br>Yet with trees about where the brown birds build, <br>And with long green grass above, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth <br>Beyond the reach of our love; <br>Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world, <br>We know she will never wake. <br>When I thought of the sorrow she might have known, <br>I was almost glad for her sake. . . . <br>Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes, <br>Grief hardened the mouth I kissed; <br>I was almost glad that my dear was dead <br>Because of the pain she had missed. <br>Oh, if I could but have died a child <br>With a white child-soul like hers, <br>As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse, <br>Where the soul of the spring's self stirs; <br>Or if I had only done with it all, <br>And might lie by her side unmoved! <br>I envied the very clods of earth <br>Their place near the child I loved! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And my soul rose up in revolt at life, <br>As I stood dry-eyed by her grave, <br>When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod <br>Rolled back like a green smooth wave; <br>The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks, <br>The tombstones were white like spray, <br>And white like surf were the curling folds <br>Of the shrouds where the dead men lay; <br>For each in his place with his quiet face <br>I saw the dead lie low, <br>Who had worked and suffered and found life sad, <br>So many sad years ago. <br>Unchanged by time I saw them lie <br>As when first they were laid to rest, <br>The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still, <br>And the work-worn hands on the breast. <br>There were some who had found the green world so grey, <br>They had left it before their time, <br>And some were little ones like my dear, <br>And some had died in their prime; <br>And some were old, they had had their fill <br>Of bitter unfruitful hours, <br>And knew that none of them, none, had known <br>A flower of a hope like ours! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up, <br>And without a voice they said: <br>'We lived without hope, without hope we died, <br>And hopeless we lie here dead; <br>And death is better than life that draws <br>Pain in, as it draws in breath, <br>If life never dreams of a coming day <br>When life shall not envy death. <br>Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived, <br>Uncheered by a single ray <br>Of such hope as lightens the lives of you <br>Who are finding life hard to-day; <br>With our little lanterns of human love <br>We lighted our dark warm night-- <br>But you in the chill of the dawn are set <br>With your face to the eastern light. <br>Freedom is waiting with hands held out <br>Till you tear the veil from her face-- <br>And when once men have seen the light of her eyes, <br>And felt her divine embrace, <br>The light of the world will be risen indeed, <br>And will shine in the eyes of men, <br>And those who come after will find life fair, <br>And their lives worth living then! <br>Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world, <br>That these things may come to pass, <br>Or lie in the shadow beside the child, <br>And strive to the sun through the grass?' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you <br>Whose lives were as dark as your grave?' <br>'We too are a part of the coming light,' <br>They called through the smooth green wave. <br>Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green <br>Rolled over and hid them from me-- <br>Hid all but the little hands and the hair, <br>And the face that I always see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</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=374145" data-title="The Dead To The Living de Edith Nesbit" data-description="Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.

IN the childhood of April, while purple woods 
With the young year's blood in them smiled, 
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields, 
And stood by the grave of the child. 
An..."></div>
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