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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416257" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Spring In Ireland: 1916</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do not forget my charge I beg of you ;<br>That of what flow'rs you find of fairest hue<br>And sweetest odor you do gather those<br>Are best of all the best — a fragrant rose,<br>A tall calm lily from the waterside,<br>A half-blown poppy leaning at the side<br>Its graceful head to dream among the corn,<br>Forget-me-nots that seem as though the morn<br>Had tumbled down and grew into the clay,<br>And hawthorn buds that swing along the way<br>Easing the hearts of those who pass them by<br>Until they find contentment. — Do not cry,<br>But gather buds, and with them greenery<br>Of slender branches taken from a tree<br>Well bannered by the spring that saw them fall:<br>Then you, for you are cleverest of all <br>Who have slim fingers and are pitiful, <br>Brimming your lap with bloom that you may cull,<br>Will sit apart, and weave for every head <br>A garland of the flow'rs you gathered. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be green upon their graves, O happy Spring,<br>For they were young and eager who are dead;<br>Of all things that are young and quivering<br>With eager life be they remembered :<br>They move not here, they have gone to the clay,<br>They cannot die again for liberty;<br>Be they remembered of their land for aye;<br>Green be their graves and green their memory.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fragrance and beauty come in with the green, <br>The ragged bushes put on sweet attire, <br>The birds forget how chill these airs have been, <br>The clouds bloom out again and move in fire; <br>Blue is the dawn of day, calm is the lake, <br>And merry sounds are fitful in the morn; <br>In covert deep the young blackbirds awake, <br>They shake their wings and sing upon the morn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At springtime of the year you came and swung <br>Green flags above the newly-greening earth; <br>Scarce were the leaves unfolded, they were young, <br>Nor had outgrown the wrinkles of their birth: <br>Comrades they thought you of their pleasant hour, <br>They had but glimpsed the sun when they saw you; <br>They heard your songs e'er birds had singing power, <br>And drank your blood e'er that they drank the dew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then you went down, and then, and as in pain, <br>The Spring affrighted fled her leafy ways, <br>The clouds came to the earth in gusty rain, <br>And no sun shone again for many days: <br>And day by day they told that one was dead, <br>And day by day the season mourned for you, <br>Until that count of woe was finished, <br>And Spring remembered all was yet to do. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She came with mirth of wind and eager leaf, <br>With scampering feet and reaching out of wings, <br>She laughed among the boughs and banished grief,<br>And cared again for all her baby things; <br>Leading along the joy that has to be, <br>Bidding her timid buds think on the May, <br>And told that Summer comes with victory, <br>And told the hope that is all creatures' stay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Go, Winter, now unto your own abode, <br>Your time is done, and Spring is conqueror <br>Lift up with all your gear and take your road, <br>For she is here and brings the sun with her: <br>Now are we resurrected, now are we, <br>Who lay so long beneath an icy hand, <br>New-risen into life and liberty, <br>Because the Spring is come into our land. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In other lands they may, <br>With public joy or dole along the way, <br>With pomp and pageantry and loud lament <br>Of drums and trumpets, and with merriment <br>Of grateful hearts, lead into rest and sted <br>The nation's dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If we had drums and trumpets, if we had<br>Aught of heroic pitch or accent glad<br>To honor you as bids tradition old,<br>With banners flung or draped in mournful fold,<br>And pacing cortege; these would we not bring<br>For your last journeying.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have no drums or trumpets ; naught have we <br>But some green branches taken from a tree, <br>And flowers that grow at large in mead and vale; <br>Nothing of choice have we, or of avail <br>To do you honor as our honor deems, <br>And as your worth beseems. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sleep, drums and trumpets, yet a little time; <br>All ends and all begins, and there is chime <br>At last where discord was, and joy at last <br>Where woe wept out her eyes: be not downcast, <br>Here is prosperity and goodly cheer, <br>For life does follow death, and death is here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Stephens">James Stephens</a><div class=q>
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Do not forget my charge I beg of you ;
That of what flow'rs you find of fairest hue
And sweetest odor you do gather those
Are best of all the best — a fragrant rose,
A tall calm lily from the waterside,
A half-blown poppy leaning at the side
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