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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409449" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Flower-De-Luce: Divina Commedia</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Oft have I seen at some cathedral door <br>A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, <br>Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet <br>Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor <br>Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; <br>Far off the noises of the world retreat; <br>The loud vociferations of the street <br>Become an undistinguishable roar. <br>So, as I enter here from day to day, <br>And leave my burden at this minster gate, <br>Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, <br>The tumult of the time disconsolate <br>To inarticulate murmurs dies away, <br>While the eternal ages watch and wait. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers! <br>This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves <br>Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves <br>Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, <br>And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers! <br>But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves <br>Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves, <br>And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers! <br>Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain, <br>What exultations trampling on despair, <br>What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, <br>What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, <br>Uprose this poem of the earth and air, <br>This medieval miracle of song! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>I enter, and I see thee in the gloom <br>Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! <br>And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. <br>The air is filled with some unknown perfume; <br>The congregation of the dead make room <br>For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine; <br>Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine <br>The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. <br>From the confessionals I hear arise <br>Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, <br>And lamentations from the crypts below; <br>And then a voice celestial, that begins <br>With the pathetic words, 'Although your sins <br>As scarlet be,' and ends with 'as the snow.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>With snow-white veil and garments as of flame, <br>She stands before thee, who so long ago <br>Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe <br>From which thy song and all its splendors came; <br>And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name, <br>The ice about thy heart melts as the snow <br>On mountain height; and in swift overflow <br>Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame. <br>Thou makest full confession; and a gleam, <br>As of the dawn on some dark forest cast, <br>Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase; <br>Lethe and Eunoe--the remembered dream <br>And the forgotten sorrow--bring at last <br>That perfect pardon which is perfect peace. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze <br>With forms of saints and holy men who died, <br>Here martyred and hereafter glorified; <br>And the great Rose upon its leaves displays <br>Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays, <br>With splendor upon splendor multiplied; <br>And Beatrice again at Dante's side <br>No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise. <br>And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs <br>Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love, <br>And benedictions of the Holy Ghost; <br>And the melodious bells among the spires <br>O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above <br>Proclaim the elevation of the Host! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>O star of morning and of liberty! <br>O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines <br>Above the darkness of the Apennines, <br>Forerunner of the day that is to be! <br>The voices of the city and the sea, <br>The voices of the mountains and the pines, <br>Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines <br>Are footpaths for the thought of Italy! <br>Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, <br>Through all the nations, and a sound is heard, <br>As of a mighty wind, and men devout, <br>Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes, <br>In their own language hear thy wondrous word, <br>And many are amazed and many doubt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q>
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Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 
A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, 
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet 
Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor 
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; 
Far off the noises of the world re..."></div>
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