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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421085" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Specimen Of An Induction To A Poem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; <br>For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye. <br>Not like the formal crest of latter days: <br>But bending in a thousand graceful ways; <br>So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand, <br>Or e’en the touch of Archimago’s wand, <br>Could charm them into such an attitude. <br>We must think rather, that in playful mood, <br>Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight, <br>To show this wonder of its gentle might. <br>Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; <br>For while I muse, the lance points slantingly <br>Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet, <br>Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet, <br>From the worn top of some old battlement <br>Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent: <br>And from her own pure self no joy dissembling, <br>Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling. <br>Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take, <br>It is reflected, clearly, in a lake, <br>With the young ashen boughs, ’gainst which it rests, <br>And th’ half seen mossiness of linnets’ nests. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty, <br>When the fire flashes from a warrior’s eye, <br>And his tremendous hand is grasping it, <br>And his dark brow for very wrath is knit? <br>Or when his spirit, with more calm intent, <br>Leaps to the honors of a tournament, <br>And makes the gazers round about the ring <br>Stare at the grandeur of the ballancing? <br>No, no! this is far off:—then how shall I <br>Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy, <br>Which linger yet about lone gothic arches, <br>In dark green ivy, and among wild larches? <br>How sing the splendour of the revelries, <br>When but[t]s of wine are drunk off to the lees? <br>And that bright lance, against the fretted wall, <br>Beneath the shade of stately banneral, <br>Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield? <br>Where ye may see a spur in bloody field. <br>Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces <br>Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces; <br>Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens: <br>Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens. <br>Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry: <br>Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by? <br>Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight, <br>Rein in the swelling of his ample might? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind, <br>And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind; <br>And always does my heart with pleasure dance, <br>When I think on thy noble countenance: <br>Where never yet was ought more earthly seen <br>Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green. <br>Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully <br>Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh <br>My daring steps: or if thy tender care, <br>Thus startled unaware, <br>Be jealous that the foot of other wight <br>Should madly follow that bright path of light <br>Trac’d by thy lov’d Libertas; he will speak, <br>And tell thee that my prayer is very meek; <br>That I will follow with due reverence, <br>And start with awe at mine own strange pretence. <br>Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope <br>To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope: <br>The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers; <br>Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keats">John Keats</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=421085" data-title="Specimen Of An Induction To A Poem de John Keats" data-description="Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; 
For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye. 
Not like the formal crest of latter days: 
But bending in a thousand graceful ways; 
So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand, 
Or e’en the touch of Archimago..."></div>
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