<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420417" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Name</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The name the Gallic exile bore,<br>St. Malo! from thy ancient mart,<br>Became upon our Western shore<br>Greenleaf for Feuillevert.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A name to hear in soft accord<br>Of leaves by light winds overrun,<br>Or read, upon the greening sward<br>Of May, in shade and sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The name my infant ear first heard<br>Breathed softly with a mother's kiss;<br>His mother's own, no tenderer word<br>My father spake than this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No child have I to bear it on;<br>Be thou its keeper; let it take<br>From gifts well used and duty done<br>New beauty for thy sake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fair ideals that outran<br>My halting footsteps seek and find--<br>The flawless symmetry of man,<br>The poise of heart and mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stand firmly where I felt the sway<br>Of every wing that fancy flew,<br>See clearly where I groped my way,<br>Nor real from seeming knew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And wisely choose, and bravely hold<br>Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown,<br>Like the stout Huguenot of old<br>Whose name to thee comes down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As Marot's songs made glad the heart<br>Of that lone exile, haply mine<br>May in life's heavy hours impart<br>Some strength and hope to thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet when did Age transfer to Youth<br>The hard-gained lessons of its day?<br>Each lip must learn the taste of truth,<br>Each foot must feel its way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We cannot hold the hands of choice<br>That touch or shun life's fateful keys;<br>The whisper of the inward voice<br>Is more than homilies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born,<br>Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing,<br>What can my evening give to morn,<br>My winter to thy spring!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A life not void of pure intent,<br>With small desert of praise or blame,<br>The love I felt, the good I meant,<br>I leave thee with my name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</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=420417" data-title="A Name de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="The name the Gallic exile bore, St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, Became upon our Western shore Greenleaf for Feuillevert. A name to hear in soft accord Of leaves by light winds overrun, Or read, upon the greening sward Of May, in shade and sun. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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