Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=37828" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Geist's Grave</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Four years!—and didst thou stay above<br>The ground, which hides thee now, but four?<br>And all that life, and all that love,<br>Were crowded, Geist! into no more?<br> <br>Only four years those winning ways,<br>Which make me for thy presence yearn,<br>Call’d us to pet thee or to praise,<br>Dear little friend! at every turn?<br> <br>That loving heart, that patient soul,<br>Had they indeed no longer span, 10<br>To run their course, and reach their goal,<br>And read their homily to man?<br> <br>That liquid, melancholy eye,<br>From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs<br>Seem’d urging the Virgilian cry, 1<br>The sense of tears in mortal things—<br> <br>That steadfast, mournful strain, consol’d<br>By spirits gloriously gay,<br>And temper of heroic mould—<br>What, was four years their whole short day?<br> <br>Yes, only four!—and not the course<br>Of all the centuries yet to come,<br>And not the infinite resource<br>Of Nature, with her countless sum<br> <br>Of figures, with her fulness vast<br>Of new creation evermore,<br>Can ever quite repeat the past,<br>Or just thy little self restore.<br> <br>Stern law of every mortal lot!<br>Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear,<br>And builds himself I know not what<br>Of second life I know not where.<br> <br>But thou, when struck thine hour to go,<br>On us, who stood despondent by,<br>A meek last glance of love didst throw,<br>And humbly lay thee down to die.<br> <br>Yet would we keep thee in our heart—<br>Would fix our favorite on the scene,<br>Nor let thee utterly depart<br>And be as if thou ne’er hadst been.<br> <br>And so there rise these lines of verse<br>On lips that rarely form them now;<br>While to each other we rehearse:<br>Such ways, such arts, such looks hadst thou!<br> <br>We stroke thy broad brown paws again,<br>We bid thee to thy vacant chair,<br>We greet thee by the window-pane,<br>We hear thy scuffle on the stair.<br> <br>We see the flaps of thy large ears<br>Quick rais’d to ask which way we go;<br>Crossing the frozen lake, appears<br>Thy small black figure on the snow!<br> <br>Nor to us only art thou dear<br>Who mourn thee in thine English home;<br>Thou hast thine absent master’s tear,<br>Dropp’d by the far Australian foam.<br> <br>Thy memory lasts both here and there,<br>And thou shalt live as long as we.<br>And after that—thou dost not care!<br>In us was all the world to thee.<br> <br>Yet, fondly zealous for thy fame,<br>Even to a date beyond our own<br>We strive to carry down thy name,<br>By mounded turf, and graven stone.<br> <br>We lay thee, close within our reach,<br>Here, where the grass is smooth and warm,<br>Between the holly and the beech,<br>Where oft we watch’d thy couchant form,<br> <br>Asleep, yet lending half an ear<br>To travellers on the Portsmouth road;—<br>There build we thee, O guardian dear,<br>Mark’d with a stone, thy last abode!<br> <br>Then some, who through this garden pass,<br>When we too, like thyself, are clay,<br>Shall see thy grave upon the grass,<br>And stop before the stone, and say:<br> <br>People who lived here long ago<br>Did by this stone, it seems, intend<br>To name for future times to know<br>The dachs-hound, Geist, their little friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Matthew+Arnold">Matthew Arnold</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=37828" data-title="Geist's Grave de Matthew Arnold" data-description="Four years!—and didst thou stay above/The ground, which hides thee now, but four?/And all that life, and all that love,/Were crowded, Geist! into no more?/ /Only four years those winning ways,/Which make me for thy presence yearn,/Call’d us to..."></div>
</div>
</div>