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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374332" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Preparations For Victory</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My soul, dread not the pestilence that hags <br>The valley; flinch not you, my body young. <br>At these great shouting smokes and snarling jags <br>Of fiery iron; as yet may not be flung <br>The dice that claims you. Manly move among<br>These ruins, and what you must do, do well; <br>Look, here are gardens, there mossed boughs are hung <br>With apples who bright cheeks none might excel, <br>And there's a house as yet unshattered by a shell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I'll do my best,&quot; the soul makes sad reply, <br>&quot;And I will mark the yet unmurdered tree, <br>The tokens of dear homes that court the eye, <br>And yet I see them not as I would see. <br>Hovering between, a ghostly enemy.<br>Sickens the light, and poisoned, withered, wan, <br>The least defiled turns desperate to me.&quot; <br>The body, poor unpitied Caliban, <br>Parches and sweats and grunts to win the name of Man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Days or eternities like swelling waves <br>Surge on, and still we drudge in this dark maze; <br>The bombs and coils and cans by strings of slaves <br>Are borne to serve the coming day of days; <br>Pale sleep in slimy cellars scarce allays <br>With its brief blank the burden. Look, we lose; <br>The sky is gone, the lightless, drenching haze <br>Of rainstorms chills the bone; earth, air are foes, <br>The black fiend leaps brick-red as life's last picture goes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edmund+Blunden">Edmund Blunden</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=374332" data-title="Preparations For Victory de Edmund Blunden" data-description="My soul, dread not the pestilence that hags 
The valley; flinch not you, my body young. 
At these great shouting smokes and snarling jags 
Of fiery iron; as yet may not be flung 
The dice that claims you. Manly move among
These ruins, and what you..."></div>
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