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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408686" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Nemesis</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is night-time when the saddest and the darkest memories haunt,<br>When outside the printing office the most glaring posters flaunt,<br>When the love-wrong is accomplished. And I think of things and mark<br>That the blackest lies are written, told, and printed after dark.<br>’Tis the time of “late editions”. It is night when, as of old,<br>Foulest things are done for hatred, for ambition, love and gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Racing from the senseless city down the dull suburban streets,<br>Come again the ragged newsboys yelping with their paltry sheets—<br>Lying posters meaning nothing, double columns meaning less,<br>Twisted facts and reckless falsehoods—dodges of the Daily Press.<br>In the town the roar and rattle of the great machines once more,<br>Greedy for the extra penny, while the “Public” howls for war.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">War because of one poor blunder made in panic far away,<br>While a thousand men were lying on the battlefield to-day:<br>Dead heaped on the helpless dying, blinded eyes and brains that swim,<br>Parched or choked with their own life-blood, battered head and broken limb.<br>Wounds too ghastly to be pictured. Things to seem like men no more,<br>Crying out to Christ for water, and oblivion—that is war.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the poets of the nation—singing-birds or carrion-birds—<br>Bluff with cheap alliteration and the boom of empty words,<br>Catch the crowd with cheating phrases, as a jingo laureate flings<br>Recklessly his high defiance in the “grinning teeth of Things”.<br>They pretend to lead who follow this day’s crowd with lying tact;<br>Let them fling their high defiance in the stony face of Fact.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so Russia, maimed and baited, seeing nought but storm to come,<br>Sailed upon a desperate venture, cursed by treachery at home;<br>Seeing danger in each shadow, thinking doubtless now and then<br>Of the swift fate of her warship with its seven hundred men;<br>And she struck out in the darkness at the ally of her foe,<br>Struck out blindly as a wounded dying bear might strike a blow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, we well might howl for vengeance, we who killed for killing’s sake—<br>Murdered helpless men in daylight, in cold blood by no mistake,<br>We who burnt the homes of women when the nights were cold and damp;<br>We who murdered little children in the concentration camp!<br>(When the farmers downed the lion for a season in his pride,<br>Say, did Russia take advantage then, while England’s hands were tied?)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wipe away the blood that binds you!—struggle to your feet again—<br>Shake them from your shoulders, Ivan—Ivan nearly mad with pain.<br>You must fight it single-handed on the deck or in the trench.<br>Look not to the boorish German! Look not to the fickle French!<br>Rather look to blinded England when her sight is clear again.<br>(And remember in the future there is chivalry in Spain.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Scoff at Russia on the ocean and her helplessness forget,<br>But on land the braggart Mongol has not done with Ivan yet;<br>He’s a fierce and cruel tyrant (we are not as others are);<br>But his slaves would die by thousands for their country and the Czar,<br>While a single broken column drags a battery through the mire,<br>And a single battered cruiser has a gun that she can fire.</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=408686" data-title="Nemesis de Henry Lawson" data-description="It is night-time when the saddest and the darkest memories haunt,
When outside the printing office the most glaring posters flaunt,
When the love-wrong is accomplished. And I think of things and mark
That the blackest lies are written, told, and p..."></div>
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