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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396771" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Martin’s Puzzle</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There she goes up the street with her book in her hand, <br>And her Good morning, Martin! Ay, lass, how d'ye do? <br>Very well, thank you, Martin!-I can't understand! <br>I might just as well never have cobbled a shoe! <br>I can't understand it. She talks like a song; <br>Her voice takes your ear like the ring of a glass; <br>She seems to give gladness while limping along, <br>Yet sinner ne'er suffer'd like that little lass. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II </div><div style="margin:10px 0">First, a fool of a boy ran her down with a cart. <br>Then, her fool of a father-a blacksmith by trade - <br>Why the deuce does he tell us it half broke his heart? <br>His heart!-where's the leg of the poor little maid! <br>Well, that's not enough; they must push her downstairs, <br>To make her go crooked: but why count the list? <br>If it's right to suppose that our human affairs <br>Are all order'd by heaven-there, bang goes my fist! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For if angels can look on such sights-never mind! <br>When you're next to blaspheming, it's best to be mum. <br>The parson declares that her woes weren't designed; <br>But, then, with the parson it's all kingdom-come. <br>Lose a leg, save a soul-a convenient text; <br>I call it Tea doctrine, not savouring of God. <br>When poor little Molly wants 'chastening,' why, next <br>The Archangel Michael might taste of the rod. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, to see the poor darling go limping for miles <br>To read books to sick people!-and just of an age <br>When girls learn the meaning of ribands and smiles! <br>Makes me feel like a squirrel that turns in a cage. <br>The more I push thinking the more I revolve: <br>I never get farther:- and as to her face, <br>It starts up when near on my puzzle I solve, <br>And says, 'This crush'd body seems such a sad case.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not that she's for complaining: she reads to earn pence; <br>And from those who can't pay, simple thanks are enough. <br>Does she leave lamentation for chaps without sense? <br>Howsoever, she's made up of wonderful stuff. <br>Ay, the soul in her body must be a stout cord; <br>She sings little hymns at the close of the day, <br>Though she has but three fingers to lift to the Lord, <br>And only one leg to kneel down with to pray. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What I ask is, Why persecute such a poor dear, <br>If there's Law above all? Answer that if you can! <br>Irreligious I'm not; but I look on this sphere <br>As a place where a man should just think like a man. <br>It isn't fair dealing! But, contrariwise, <br>Do bullets in battle the wicked select? <br>Why, then it's all chance-work! And yet, in her eyes, <br>She holds a fixed something by which I am checked. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yonder riband of sunshine aslope on the wall, <br>If you eye it a minute 'll have the same look: <br>So kind! and so merciful! God of us all! <br>It's the very same lesson we get from the Book. <br>Then, is Life but a trial? Is that what is meant? <br>Some must toil, and some perish, for others below: <br>The injustice to each spreads a common content; <br>Ay! I've lost it again, for it can't be quite so. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She's the victim of fools: that seems nearer the mark. <br>On earth there are engines and numerous fools. <br>Why the Lord can permit them, we're still in the dark; <br>He does, and in some sort of way they're His tools. <br>It's a roundabout way, with respect let me add, <br>If Molly goes crippled that we may be taught: <br>But, perhaps, it's the only way, though it's so bad; <br>In that case we'll bow down our heads,-as we ought. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the worst of ME is, that when I bow my head, <br>I perceive a thought wriggling away in the dust, <br>And I follow its tracks, quite forgetful, instead <br>Of humble acceptance: for, question I must! <br>Here's a creature made carefully-carefully made! <br>Put together with craft, and then stamped on, and why? <br>The answer seems nowhere: it's discord that's played. <br>The sky's a blue dish!-an implacable sky! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">X </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stop a moment. I seize an idea from the pit. <br>They tell us that discord, though discord, alone, <br>Can be harmony when the notes properly fit: <br>Am I judging all things from a single false tone? <br>Is the Universe one immense Organ, that rolls <br>From devils to angels? I'm blind with the sight. <br>It pours such a splendour on heaps of poor souls! <br>I might try at kneeling with Molly to-night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Meredith">George Meredith</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=396771" data-title="Martin’s Puzzle de George Meredith" data-description="I 

There she goes up the street with her book in her hand, 
And her Good morning, Martin! Ay, lass, how d'ye do? 
Very well, thank you, Martin!-I can't understand! 
I might just as well never have cobbled a shoe! 
I can't understand it. She talks..."></div>
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