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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506741" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>This Life.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This life that glides away<br>As in a night and day —<br>This that is shade and shine from Night brought forth<br>To Night returning on a cloudy wing,<br>As if it took with it out of the earth<br>Everything!<br>A specimen of Time — a fact<br>Which hope and fear have verified,<br>Whate'er the after aeons may enact,<br>Whate'er has been or will be thought of here;<br>Something that must still in itself abide<br>As if in its own sphere.<br>Oh! who can sing it — the immaterial I,<br>One with the earth, one with the sky?<br>It is so brief, so everlasting too,<br>So all apart from Him and You —<br>This that within itself contains<br>The first and last of all we hear and see,<br>Time centred in Eternity<br>With all its joys and pains,<br>Its hopes and fears through all the years<br>That still like an ethereal dew<br>Fall on the senses, which therethrough<br>Still gloom and gleam — This that is as apart<br>As the Universal Heart,<br>That re-absorbs itself, as if it were,<br>Beyond all praise and prayer<br>Within its own immensity —<br>This patent, yet impalpable ME<br>Like a divine thing in a mystic mart<br>Trading on its own authenticity ...<br>It cannot sing itself, self-dumb<br>'Mid the world's hum,<br>Though vocal in all else, as thought<br>Embodied in itself all things,<br>Yet left the Thinker by himself apart<br>As in a region whose<br>Shadows and lights confuse<br>The semblances of his identity<br>With mystic movements, eerie vanishings;<br>Until his being seems to be<br>A very dream, imbued<br>With some primeval mood<br>In which weird pictures of the soul appear,<br>Grotesque and crude<br>As the first rude<br>Conceits of the untutored eye and ear<br>In prehistoric breathings fraught<br>With all the little there was then<br>Divine in thought.<br>It cannot sing itself, and yet<br>Pourtraying the world's heart<br>It has, as if it were, command<br>Of an interior land<br>Untraced on any mortal chart,<br>Beneath a sky whose sun has never set<br>Since first Thought's eastern curtains drawn<br>Let in the dawn<br>Of the illusive light by which we know<br>That we are here, and go<br>To a most certain end not far away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Crawford">Robert Crawford</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=506741" data-title="This Life. de Robert Crawford" data-description="This life that glides away
As in a night and day —
This that is shade and shine from Night brought forth
To Night returning on a cloudy wing,
As if it took with it out of the earth
Everything!
A specimen of Time — a fact
Which hope and fear ha..."></div>
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