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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392123" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Henry George</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Melbourne)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I CAME to buy a book. It was a shop<br>Down in a narrow quiet street, and here<br>They kept, I knew, these socialistic books.<br>I entered. All was bare, but clean and neat.<br>The shelves were ranged with unsold wares; the counter<br>Held a few sheets and papers. Here and there<br>Hung prints and calendars. I rapped, and straight<br>A young Girl came out through the inner door.<br>She had a clear and simple face; I saw<br>She had no beauty, loveliness, nor charm,<br>But, as your eyes met those grey light-lit eyes<br>Like to a mountain spring so pure, you thought:<br>'He'd be a clever man who looked, and lied!'<br>I asked her for the book. . . . We spoke a little.<br>Her words were as her face was, as her eyes.<br>Yes, she'd read many books like this of mine:<br>Also some poets, Shelley, Byron too,<br>And Tennyson, but 'poets only dreamed!'<br>Thus, then, we talked, until by chance I spoke<br>A phrase and then a name. 'Twas 'Henry George.'<br>Her face lit up. O it was beautiful,<br>Or never woman's face was! 'Henry George?'<br>She said. And then a look, a flush, a smile,<br>Such as sprung up in Magdalenè's cheek<br>When some voice uttered Jesus, made her angel.<br>She turned and pointed up the counter. I,<br>Loosing mine eyes from that ensainted face,<br>Looked also. 'Twas a print, a common print,<br>The head and shoulders of a man. She said,<br>Quite in a whisper: 'That's him, Henry George!'<br>Darling, that in this life of wrong and woe,<br>The lovely woman-soul within you brooded<br>And wept and loved and hated and pitied,<br>And knew not what its helplessness could do,<br>Its helplessness, its sheer bewilderment —<br>That then those eyes should fall, those angel eyes,<br>On one who'd brooded, wept, loved, hated, pitied,<br>Even as you had, but therefrom had sprung<br>A hope, a plan, a scheme to right this wrong,<br>And make this woe less hateful to the sun —<br>And that pure soul had found its Master thus<br>To listen to, remember, watch and love,<br>And trust the dawn that rose up through the dark:<br>O this was good<br>For me to see, as for some weary hopeless<br>Longer and toiler for 'the Kingdom of Heaven'<br>To stand some lifeless twilight hour, and hear,<br>There in a dim-lit house of Lazarus,<br>Mary who said: 'Thus, thus he looked, he spake,<br>The Master!' — So to hear her rapturous words,<br>And gaze upon her up-raised heavenly face!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+William+Lauderdale+Adams">Francis William Lauderdale Adams</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=392123" data-title="Henry George de Francis William Lauderdale Adams" data-description="(Melbourne)

I CAME to buy a book. It was a shop
Down in a narrow quiet street, and here
They kept, I knew, these socialistic books.
I entered. All was bare, but clean and neat.
The shelves were ranged with unsold wares; the counter
Held a few she..."></div>
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