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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=397109" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Before a Statue of Achilles</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behoild Pelides with his yellow hair,<br>Proud child of Thetis, hero loved of Jove;<br>Above the frowning of his brows of wove<br>A crown of gold, well combed, with Spartan care.<br>Who might have seen him, sullen, great, and fair,<br>As with the wrongful world he proudly strove,<br>And by high deeds his wilder passion shrove,<br>Mastering love, resentment, and despair.<br>He knew his end, and Phoebus' arrow sure<br>He braved for fame immortal and a friend,<br>Despising life; and we, who know our end,<br>Know that in our decay he shall endure<br>And all our children's hearts to grief inure,<br>With whose first bitter battles his shall blend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">   II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who brought thee forth, immortal vision, who<br>In Phthia or in Tempe brought thee forth?<br>Out of the sunlight and the sapful earth<br>What god the simples of thy spirit drew?<br>A goddess rose from the green waves, and threw<br>Her arms about a king, to give thee birth;<br>A centaur, patron of thy boyish mirth,<br>Over the meadows in thy footsteps flew.<br>Now Thessaly forgets thee, and the deep<br>Thy keeled bark furrowed answers not thy prayer;<br>But far away new generations keep<br>Thy laurels fresh; where branching Isis hems<br>The lawns of Oxford round about, or where<br>Enchanted Eton sits by pleasant Thames.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">   III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I gaze on thee as Phidias of old<br>Or Polyclitus gazed, when first he saw<br>These hard and shining limbs, without a flaw,<br>And cast his wonder in heroic mould.<br>Unhappy me who only may behold,<br>Nor make immutable and fix in awe<br>A fair immortal form no worm shall gnaw,<br>A tempered mind whose faith was never told!<br>The godlike mien, the lion's lock and eye,<br>The well-knit sinew, utter a brave heart<br>Better than many words that part by part<br>Spell in strange symbols what serene and whole<br>In nature lives, nor can in marble die.<br>The perfect body itself the soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Santayana">George Santayana</a><div class=q>
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Behoild Pelides with his yellow hair,
Proud child of Thetis, hero loved of Jove;
Above the frowning of his brows of wove
A crown of gold, well combed, with Spartan care.
Who might have seen him, sullen, great, and fair,
As with the wrongful wor..."></div>
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