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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=400552" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Modern Manichee</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sayeth there is no sin, and all his sin<br>Swells round him into a world made merciless; <br>The midnight of his universe of shame<br>Is the vast shadow of his shamelessness.<br>He blames all that begat him, gods or brutes, <br>And sires not sons he chides as with a rod.<br>The sins of the children visited on the fathers<br>Through all generations, back to a jealous God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The fields that heal the humble, the happy forests <br>That sing to men confessed and men consoled, <br>To him are jungles only, greedy and groping,<br>Heartlessly new, unvenerably old.<br>Beyond the pride of his own cold compassion<br>Is only cruelty and imputed pain:<br>Matched with that mood, a boy's sport in the forest<br>Makes comrades of the slayer and the slain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The innocent lust of the unfallen creatures<br>Moves him to hidden horror but no mirth;<br>Misplaced morality rots in the roots unconscious, <br>His stifled conscience stinks through the green earth.<br>The green things thrust like horrible huge snails, <br>Horns green and gross, each lifting a leering eye<br>He scarce can call a flower; it lolls obscene, <br>Its organs gaping to the sneering sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Dark with that dusk the old red god of gardens<br>Still pagan but not merry any more, <br>Stirs up the dull adulteries of the dust,<br>Blind, frustrate, hopeless, hollow at the core;<br>The plants are brutes tied with green rope and roaring <br>Their terrible dark loves from tree to tree:<br>He shrinks as from a shaft, if by him singing, <br>A gilded pimp and pandar, goes the bee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> He sayeth, 'I have no sin; I cast the stone', <br>And throws his little pebble at the shrine, <br>Casts sin and stone away against the house<br>Whose health has turned earth's waters into wine.<br>The venom of that repudiated guilt<br>Poisons the sea and every natural flood<br>As once a wavering tyrant washed his hands, <br>And touching, turned the water black with blood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Gilbert+Keith+Chesterton">Gilbert Keith Chesterton</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=400552" data-title="The Modern Manichee de Gilbert Keith Chesterton" data-description="He sayeth there is no sin, and all his sin
Swells round him into a world made merciless; 
The midnight of his universe of shame
Is the vast shadow of his shamelessness.
He blames all that begat him, gods or brutes, 
And sires not sons he chides as..."></div>
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