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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421186" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Monday In Whitsun-Week</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since all that is not Heaven must fade,<br>Light be the hand of Ruin laid<br> Upon the home I love:<br>With lulling spell let soft Decay<br>Steal on, and spare the giant sway,<br> The crash of tower and grove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far opening down some woodland deep<br>In their own quiet glade should sleep<br> The relics dear to thought,<br>And wild-flower wreaths from side to side<br>Their waving tracery hang, to hide<br> What ruthless Time has wrought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such are the visions green and sweet<br>That o'er the wistful fancy fleet<br> In Asia's sea-like plain,<br>Where slowly, round his isles of sand,<br>Euphrates through the lonely land<br> Winds toward the pearly main.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slumber is there, but not of rest;<br>There her forlorn and weary nest<br> The famished hawk has found,<br>The wild dog howls at fall of night,<br>The serpent's rustling coils affright<br> The traveller on his round.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What shapeless form, half lost on high,<br>Half seen against the evening sky,<br> Seems like a ghost to glide,<br>And watch, from Babel's crumbling heap,<br>Where in her shadow, fast asleep,<br> Lies fallen imperial Pride?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With half-closed eye a lion there<br>Is basking in his noontide lair,<br> Or prowls in twilight gloom.<br>The golden city's king he seems,<br>Such as in old prophetic dreams<br> Sprang from rough ocean's womb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But where are now his eagle wings,<br>That sheltered erst a thousand kings,<br> Hiding the glorious sky<br>From half the nations, till they own<br>No holier name, no mightier throne?<br> That vision is gone by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quenched is the golden statue's ray,<br>The breath of heaven has blown away<br> What toiling earth had piled,<br>Scattering wise heart and crafty hand,<br>As breezes strew on ocean's sand<br> The fabrics of a child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Divided thence through every age<br>Thy rebels, Lord, their warfare wage,<br> And hoarse and jarring all<br>Mount up their heaven-assailing cries<br>To Thy bright watchmen in the skies<br> From Babel's shattered wall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thrice only since, with blended might<br>The nations on that haughty height<br> Have met to scale the Heaven:<br>Thrice only might a Seraph's look<br>A moment's shade of sadness brook -<br> Such power to guilt was given.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the fierce bear and leopard keen<br>Are perished as they ne'er had been,<br> Oblivion is their home:<br>Ambition's boldest dream and last<br>Must melt before the clarion blast<br> That sounds the dirge of Rome.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heroes and kings, obey the charm,<br>Withdraw the proud high-reaching arm,<br> There is an oath on high:<br>That ne'er on brow of mortal birth<br>Shall blend again the crowns of earth,<br> Nor in according cry</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her many voices mingling own<br>One tyrant Lord, one idol throne:<br> But to His triumphs soon<br>HE shall descend, who rules above,<br>And the pure language of His love,<br> All tongues of men shall tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor let Ambition heartless mourn;<br>When Babel's very ruins burn,<br> Her high desires may breathe; -<br>O'ercome thyself, and thou mayst share<br>With Christ His Father's throne, and wear<br> The world's imperial wreath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keble">John Keble</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=421186" data-title="Monday In Whitsun-Week de John Keble" data-description="Since all that is not Heaven must fade,
Light be the hand of Ruin laid
 Upon the home I love:
With lulling spell let soft Decay
Steal on, and spare the giant sway,
 The crash of tower and grove.

Far opening down some woodland deep
In their own qu..."></div>
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