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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419838" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the Death of a Very Young Gentleman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He, who could view the book of destiny, <br>And read whatever there was writ of thee, <br>O charming youth, in the first opening page, <br>So many graces in so green an age, <br>Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, <br>A soul at once so manly and so kind, <br>Would wonder when he turned the volume o'er, <br>And, after some few leaves, should find no more, <br>Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, <br>A step of life that promised such a race. <br>We must not, dare not, think, that heaven began <br>A child, and could not finish him a man; <br>Reflecting what a mighty store was laid <br>Of rich materials, and a model made: <br>The cost already furnished; so bestowed, <br>As more was never to one soul allowed: <br>Yet after this profusion spent in vain, <br>Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain, <br>I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, <br>Yet, durst I guess, heaven kept it for himself; <br>And giving us the use, did soon recall, <br>Ere we could spare the mighty principal. <br>Thus then he disappeared, was rarified, <br>For 'tis improper speech to say he died: <br>He was exhaled; his great Creator drew <br>His spirit, as the sun the morning dew. <br>'Tis sin produces death; and he had none, <br>But the taint Adam left on every son. <br>He added not, he was so pure, so good, <br>'Twas but the original forfeit of his blood; <br>And that so little, that the river ran <br>More clear than the corrupted fount began. <br>Nothing remained of the first muddy clay; <br>The length of course had washed it in the way: <br>So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold <br>The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold. <br>As such we loved, admired, almost adored, <br>Gave all the tribute mortals could afford. <br>Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above <br>Grew angry at our superstitious love; <br>For when we more than human homage pay, <br>The charming cause is justly snatched away. <br>Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone; <br>And yet we murmur that he went so soon, <br>Though miracles are short, and rarely shown. <br>Learn then, ye mournful parents, and divide <br>That love in many, which in one was tied. <br>That individual blessing is no more, <br>But multiplied in your remaining store. <br>The flame's dispersed, but does not all expire; <br>The sparkles blaze, though not the globe of fire. <br>Love him by parts, in all your numerous race, <br>And from those parts form one collected grace; <br>Then, when you have refined to that degree, <br>Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</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=419838" data-title="On the Death of a Very Young Gentleman de John Dryden" data-description="He, who could view the book of destiny, 
And read whatever there was writ of thee, 
O charming youth, in the first opening page, 
So many graces in so green an age, 
Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, 
A soul at once so manly and so ki..."></div>
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