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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374257" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Via Amoris</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT is not Love, this beautiful unrest,<br>This tremor of longing that invades my breast:<br>For Love is in his grave this many a year,<br>He will not rise--I do not wish him here.<br>It is not memory, for your face and eyes<br>Are not reflected where that dark pool lies:<br>It is not hope, for life makes no amends,<br>And hope and I are long no longer friends:<br>It is a ghost out of another Spring<br>It needs but little for its comforting--<br>That I should hold your hand and see your face<br>And muse a little in this quiet place,<br>Where, through the silence, I can hear you sigh<br>And feel you sadden, O Virgin Mystery,<br>And know my thought has in your thought begot<br>Sadness, its child, and that you know it not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If this were Love, if all this bitter pain<br>Were but the birth-pang of Love born again,<br>If through the doubts and dreams resolved, smiled<br>The prophetic promise of the holy child,<br>What should I gain? The Love whose dream-lips smiled<br>Could never be my own and only child,<br>But to Love's birth would come, with the last pain,<br>Renunciation, also born again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If this were Love why should I turn away?<br>Am I not, too, made of the common clay?<br>Is life so fair, am I so fortunate,<br>I can refuse the capricious gift of Fate,<br>The sudden glory, the unhoped-for flowers,<br>The transfiguration of my earthly hours?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, Love! the house is garnished and is swept,<br>Washed clean with all the tears that I have wept,<br>Washed from the stain of my unworthy fears,<br>Hung with the splendid spoils of wasted years,<br>Lighted with lamps of hope, and curtained fast<br>Against the gathered darkness of the past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I draw the bolts! I throw the portals wide,<br>The darkness rushes shivering to my side,<br>Love is not here--the darkness creeps about<br>My house wherein the lamps of hope die out.<br>Ah Love! it was not then your hand that came<br>Beating my door? your voice that called my name?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It is not Love, it is not Love,' I said,<br>And bowed in fearful hope my trembling head.<br>'It is not Love, for Love could never rise<br>Out of the rock-hewn grave wherein he lies.'<br>But as I spake, the heavenly form drew near<br>Where close I clasped a hope grown keen as fear,<br>Upon my head His very hand He laid<br>And whispered, 'It is I, be not afraid!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is Love, no rose-crowned laughing guest<br>By whom my passionate heart should be caressed,<br>But one re-risen from the grave; austere,<br>Cold as the grave, and infinitely dear,<br>To follow whom I lay the whole world down,<br>Take up the cross, bind on the thorny crown;<br>And, following whom, my bleeding pilgrim feet<br>Find the rough pathway sure and very sweet.<br>The august environment of mighty wings<br>Shuts out the snare of vain imaginings,<br>For by my side, crowned with Love's death-white rose,<br>The Angel of Renunciation goes.</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=374257" data-title="Via Amoris de Edith Nesbit" data-description="I.

IT is not Love, this beautiful unrest,
This tremor of longing that invades my breast:
For Love is in his grave this many a year,
He will not rise--I do not wish him here.
It is not memory, for your face and eyes
Are not reflected where that da..."></div>
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