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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419055" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The King’s Evil</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They brought them up from their huts in the fens, <br>The woeful sufferers gaunt and grim; <br>They flocked from the city's noisome dens<br>To the Monarch's throne to be touched by him. <br>'For his touch,' they whisper, 'is sovereign balm,<br>The anointed King has a power to heal.' <br>Oh, the piteous prayers as the royal palm<br>Is laid on their necks while they humbly kneel!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blind hope! But the cruel and cold deceit<br>A rich reward to the palace brings; <br>A snare for the untaught People's feet,<br>And a courtier's lie for the good of Kings. <br>But the years are sands, and they slip away<br>Till the baseless wall in the sun lies bare; <br>The touch of the King has no balm to-day,<br>And the Right Divine is the People's share.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The word remains: but the Evil now<br>Is caused, not cured, by imperial hands,—<br>The lightless soul and the narrow brow,<br>The servile millions in armed bands; <br>The sweat-wrung gold from the peasant's toil <br>Flung merrily out by the gambling lord, <br>Who is reckless owner of serf and soil, <br>And master of church and law and sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the night has receded: the dawn like a tide<br>Creeps slow round the world, till the feet of the throne <br>Are lapped by the waves that shall seethe and ride<br>Where the titles are gulfed and the shields overblown. <br>Our Kings are the same as the Kings of old,<br>But a Man stands up where there crouched a clown; <br>The Evil shall die when his hand grows bold,<br>And the touch of the People is laid on the Crown!</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=419055" data-title="The King’s Evil de John Boyle O'Reilly" data-description="They brought them up from their huts in the fens, 
The woeful sufferers gaunt and grim; 
They flocked from the city's noisome dens
To the Monarch's throne to be touched by him. 
'For his touch,' they whisper, 'is sovereign balm,
The anointed King ..."></div>
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