<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415041" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Abnormal Is Not Courage</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Poles rode out from Warsaw against the German <br>Tanks on horses. Rode knowing, in sunlight, with sabers, <br>A magnitude of beauty that allows me no peace. <br>And yet this poem would lessen that day. Question <br>The bravery. Say it's not courage. Call it a passion. <br>Would say courage isn't that. Not at its best. <br>It was impossib1e, and with form. They rode in sunlight, <br>Were mangled. But I say courage is not the abnormal. <br>Not the marvelous act. Not Macbeth with fine speeches. <br>The worthless can manage in public, or for the moment. <br>It is too near the whore's heart: the bounty of impulse, <br>And the failure to sustain even small kindness. <br>Not the marvelous act, but the evident conclusion of being. <br>Not strangeness, but a leap forward of the same quality. <br>Accomplishment. The even loyalty. But fresh. <br>Not the Prodigal Son, nor Faustus. But Penelope. <br>The thing steady and clear. Then the crescendo. <br>The real form. The culmination. And the exceeding. <br>Not the surprise. The amazed understanding. The marriage, <br>Not the month's rapture. Not the exception. The beauty <br>That is of many days. Steady and clear. <br>It is the normal excellence, of long accomplishment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jack+Gilbert">Jack Gilbert</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=415041" data-title="The Abnormal Is Not Courage de Jack Gilbert" data-description="The Poles rode out from Warsaw against the German Tanks on horses. Rode knowing, in sunlight, with sabers, A magnitude of beauty that allows me no peace. And yet this poem would lessen that day. Question The bravery. Say it's not courage. Call..."></div> </div> </div>

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