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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408536" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Slight Misunderstanding at the Jasper Gate</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, do you hear the argument, far up above the skies?<br>The voice of old Saint Peter, in expostulation rise?<br>Growing shrill, and ever shriller, at the thing that’s being done;<br>More in sorrow than in anger, like our old Jack Robertson.<br>Old Saint Peter’s had his troubles—heaps of troubles, great and small,<br>Since he kept the gates of Heaven—but this last one covers all!<br>It is not a crowing rooster—that’s a sight and sound he’s useter,<br>Simulated by some impish spirit that he knows full well;<br>It is simply Drake, of Devon, who is breaking out of Heaven,<br>With a crew of pirate brethren, to come down once more to Hell! <br>Oh, do you hear the distant sound, that seems to come and go,<br>As thunder does in summer time, when faraway and low?<br>Or the “croon” beneath the church bells, when they’re pealing from the tower—<br>And the church bells are the battle-call in this dark, anxious hour.<br>Do you feel the distant throbbing; Do you feel it go and come;<br>Like a war hymn on horizons, or a centuries-mellowed drum!<br>Hear it sobbing, hear it throbbing, like some not unhappy sobbing—<br>By the peaceful Devon landscape and the fair Devonian home!<br>By the land those spirits meet in—and it’s Drake’s Drum, spirit-beaten,<br>By perhaps the Rose of Torridge—and it’s calling Drake to come? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, do you feel a cooling hand upon your fevered brow?<br>That dulls your ears to Hell’s Own Din—or that worse Silence, now?<br>In the starlight in the Channel, while Destruction lurks below,<br>Or that Nether-Hell, the Stoke-hole, where you cannot see or know?<br>Do you feel a soothing presence, keeping sanity in one<br>Going mad, in Satan’s Nightmare, where the gun-crew works the gun?<br>It is Raleigh!—Admiral-Poet, who had dreams though few may know it—<br>Who had dreams of England’s greatness, otherwise than by the sea.<br>Sorrowful but all-forgiving, bringing courage to the living—<br>Raleigh’s Spirit, not from London, but his Vanished Colony. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, do you feel a stony calm that you had never known?<br>With comrades in the firing-line, or “Sentry Go” alone.<br>When it’s Hellfire all around you, and it’s freezing slush below,<br>Or you pace in rain and darkness, with Old Death, and “Sentry Go”—<br>Feel a cold determination that makes all but Now a blank;<br>That’s half foreign to your nature, and half foreign to your rank?<br>It is Wellington, where French is, who has broken Heaven’s trenches,<br>With his purple-blooded captains (who used purple language then)<br>Come to strengthen with his spirit all the coolness you inherit—<br>He who took the scum of Europe, and who trained them to be Men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</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=408536" data-title="A Slight Misunderstanding at the Jasper Gate de Henry Lawson" data-description="Oh, do you hear the argument, far up above the skies?
The voice of old Saint Peter, in expostulation rise?
Growing shrill, and ever shriller, at the thing that’s being done;
More in sorrow than in anger, like our old Jack Robertson.
Old Saint Pe..."></div>
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