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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418990" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dolores</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IS he well blessed who has no eyes to scan <br>The woeful things that shadow all our life: <br>The latent brute behind the eyes of man, <br>The place and power gained and stained by strife, <br>The weakly victims driven to the wall, <br>The subtle cruelties that meet us all <br>Like eyes from darksome places? Blessed is he <br>Who such sad things is never doomed to see! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The crust of common life is worn by time, <br>And shines deception, as a thin veneer <br>The raw plank hides, or as the frozen mere <br>Holds drowned men embedded in its slime; <br>The ninety eat their bread of death and crime, <br>And sin and sorrow that the ten may thrive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, moaning sea of life! the few who dive <br>Beneath thy waters, faint and short of breath, <br>Not Dante-like, who cannot swim in death <br>And view its secrets, but must swiftly rise,— <br>They meet the light with introverted eyes, <br>And hands that clutch a few dim mysteries! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our life a harp is, with unnumbered strings, <br>And tones and symphonies; but our poor skill <br>Some shallow notes from its great music brings. <br>We know it there; but vainly wish and will. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, things symbolic! Things that mock our sense—<br>Our five-fold, pitiable sense—and say<br>A thousand senses could not show one day<br>As sight infinite sees it; fruitful clay,<br>And budding bough, and nature great with child<br>And chill with doom and death—is all so dense<br>That our dull thought can never read thy words,<br>Or sweep with knowing hand thy hidden chords?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Have men not fallen from fair heights, once trod <br>By nobler minds, who saw the works of God, <br>The flowers and living things, still undefiled, <br>And spoke one language with them? And can we, <br>In countless generations, each more pure <br>Than that preceding, come at last to see <br>Thy symbols full of meaning, and be sure <br>That what we read is all they have to tell?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Boyle+O%27Reilly">John Boyle O'Reilly</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=418990" data-title="Dolores de John Boyle O'Reilly" data-description="IS he well blessed who has no eyes to scan 
The woeful things that shadow all our life: 
The latent brute behind the eyes of man, 
The place and power gained and stained by strife, 
The weakly victims driven to the wall, 
The subtle cruelties that..."></div>
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