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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447653" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Four Riddles</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was an ancient City, stricken down<br>With a strange frenzy, and for many a day<br>They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,<br>And danced the night away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:<br>They pointed to a building gray and tall,<br>And hoarsely answered &quot;Step inside, my lad,<br>And then you'll see it all.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet what are all such gaieties to me<br>Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">x*x + 7x + 53 = 11/3 </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But something whispered &quot;It will soon be done:<br>Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:<br>Endure with patience the distasteful fun<br>For just a little while!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A change came o'er my Vision - it was night:<br>We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:<br>The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:<br>The chariots whirled along. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Within a marble hall a river ran -<br>A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:<br>And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,<br>Yet swallowed down her wrath; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And here one offered to a thirsty fair<br>(His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)<br>Some frozen viand (there were many there),<br>A tooth-ache in each spoonful. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There comes a happy pause, for human strength<br>Will not endure to dance without cessation;<br>And every one must reach the point at length<br>Of absolute prostration. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At such a moment ladies learn to give,<br>To partners who would urge them over-much,<br>A flat and yet decided negative -<br>Photographers love such. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There comes a welcome summons - hope revives,<br>And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:<br>Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives<br>Dispense the tongue and chicken. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:<br>And all is tangled talk and mazy motion -<br>Much like a waving field of golden grain,<br>Or a tempestuous ocean. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus they give the time, that Nature meant<br>For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,<br>To ceaseless din and mindless merriment<br>And waste of shoes and floors. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,<br>That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,<br>They doom to pass in solitude the hours,<br>Writing acrostic-ballads. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How late it grows! The hour is surely past<br>That should have warned us with its double knock?<br>The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last -<br>&quot;Oh, Uncle, what's o'clock?&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.<br>It MAY mean much, but how is one to know?<br>He opens his mouth - yet out of it, methinks,<br>No words of wisdom flow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Empress of Art, for thee I twine<br>This wreath with all too slender skill.<br>Forgive my Muse each halting line,<br>And for the deed accept the will! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>O day of tears! Whence comes this spectre grim,<br>Parting, like Death's cold river, souls that love?<br>Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,<br>By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,<br>Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:<br>And these wild words of fury but proclaim<br>A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But all is lost: that mighty mind o'erthrown,<br>Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!<br>&quot;Doubt that the stars are fire,&quot; so runs his moan,<br>&quot;Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire<br>Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!<br>And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?<br>And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, get thee hence! Leave all thy winsome ways<br>And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:<br>In holy silence wait the appointed days,<br>And weep away the leaden-footed hours. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The air is bright with hues of light<br>And rich with laughter and with singing:<br>Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,<br>And banners wave, and bells are ringing:<br>But silence falls with fading day,<br>And there's an end to mirth and play.<br>Ah, well-a-day </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!<br>The kettle sings, the firelight dances.<br>Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught<br>That fills the soul with golden fancies!<br>For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,<br>And ye are withered, worn, and gray.<br>Ah, well-a-day! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O fair cold face! O form of grace,<br>For human passion madly yearning!<br>O weary air of dumb despair,<br>From marble won, to marble turning!<br>&quot;Leave us not thus!&quot; we fondly pray.<br>&quot;We cannot let thee pass away!&quot;<br>Ah, well-a-day! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My First is singular at best:<br>More plural is my Second:<br>My Third is far the pluralest -<br>So plural-plural, I protest<br>It scarcely can be reckoned! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My First is followed by a bird:<br>My Second by believers<br>In magic art: my simple Third<br>Follows, too often, hopes absurd<br>And plausible deceivers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My First to get at wisdom tries -<br>A failure melancholy!<br>My Second men revered as wise:<br>My Third from heights of wisdom flies<br>To depths of frantic folly. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My First is ageing day by day:<br>My Second's age is ended:<br>My Third enjoys an age, they say,<br>That never seems to fade away,<br>Through centuries extended. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Whole? I need a poet's pen<br>To paint her myriad phases:<br>The monarch, and the slave, of men -<br>A mountain-summit, and a den<br>Of dark and deadly mazes - </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A flashing light - a fleeting shade -<br>Beginning, end, and middle<br>Of all that human art hath made<br>Or wit devised! Go, seek HER aid,<br>If you would read my riddle!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lewis+Carroll">Lewis Carroll</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=447653" data-title="Four Riddles de Lewis Carroll" data-description="I 

There was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away. 

I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:
They pointed to a building gray and tall,
A..."></div>
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