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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455779" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Nearing Port</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A blue line to the westward that surely is not cloud;<br>A green tinge in the waters; a clamorous bird-crowd;<br>Then far-off foamy edges, and hill-tops timber fringed;<br>And, perched aloft, a light-house, o'er grey cliffs golden-tinged.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O watchers leaning landward, know ye of nothing more?<br>And hear ye but the sea-birds? and see ye but the shore?<br>Nay, look awhile, and listen who bids you welcome there;<br>The great seas kiss her sandals, the high stars gem her hair!<br>Behold her in the gateway! high-held in either hand<br>A blazing beacon, lighted to lead you to the land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Now welcome, kindly welcome, who come to me for cheer!<br>My forts may frown on others, but ye have nought to fear.<br>The cannon's flash and thunder are all for joy to-day,<br>No murmurs meet your coming, none wish to bar your way.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, later called to labour, shall we who toiled at morn<br>Remember, as against you, the heat and burthen borne?<br>No, verily, we shall not! We pray the labourer's Lord<br>May give you after-comers a full day's full reward.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now fear not, fair-haired maiden, for gladness waits thee here,<br>As by thy father's fireside in bygone days and dear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy troubled brow, O matron, beneath its silvering hair,<br>Shall gain no fresher furrows, shall lose its look of care;<br>No longer for thy household the winter need'st thou dread,<br>Nor, fearing for to-morrow, shalt stint the children's bread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, a “mother's darling,” on those young locks of thine<br>What midnight rains shall batter, what tropic suns shall shine!<br>Thy tender hands, toil-hardened, unwonted tools shall wield,<br>Shall fell the columned forest, shall till the furrowed field.<br>Yet, when at England's fireside her olden tales are told,<br>Perchance, 'mid tearful silence, one from the land of gold.<br>Shall tell a brave new story, of want, and work, and care,<br>Of trial and of triumph, to touch the coldest there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now enter ye a haven your fathers have not known;<br>Now dwell ye in a country that once was not your own.<br>Part of the New World's army, the pioneers, are ye;<br>For whom there waits, ungathered, the wealth of earth and sea!<br>No need of “fiery baptism,” no blood, no tears to flow,<br>Ah, legions of the Caesars, had you but conquered so!<br>Ah, Vikings in Valhalla our fathers dead and gone<br>Could you have made such landing such golden shores upon!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Hannay+Foott">Mary Hannay Foott</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=455779" data-title="Nearing Port de Mary Hannay Foott" data-description="A blue line to the westward that surely is not cloud;
A green tinge in the waters; a clamorous bird-crowd;
Then far-off foamy edges, and hill-tops timber fringed;
And, perched aloft, a light-house, o'er grey cliffs golden-tinged.

O watchers leani..."></div>
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