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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508434" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lost</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Black is the sky, but the land is white--<br> (O the wind, the snow and the storm!)--<br> Father, where is our boy to-night?<br> Pray to God he is safe and warm.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Mother, mother, why should you fear?<br> Safe is he, and the Arctic moon<br> Over his cabin shines so clear--<br> Rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon.&quot;<br> <br>&quot;It's getting dark awful sudden. Say, this is mighty queer!<br> Where in the world have I got to? It's still and black as a tomb.<br>I reckoned the camp was yonder, I figured the trail was here--<br> Nothing! Just draw and valley packed with quiet and gloom;<br>Snow that comes down like feathers, thick and gobby and gray;<br> Night that looks spiteful ugly--seems that I've lost my way. <br>&quot;The cold's got an edge like a jackknife--it must be forty below;<br> Leastways that's what it seems like--it cuts so fierce to the bone.<br>The wind's getting real ferocious; it's heaving and whirling the snow;<br> It shrieks with a howl of fury, it dies away to a moan;<br>Its arms sweep round like a banshee's, swift and icily white,<br> And buffet and blind and beat me. Lord! it's a hell of a night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I'm all tangled up in a blizzard. There's only one thing to do--<br> Keep on moving and moving; it's death, it's death if I rest.<br>Oh, God! if I see the morning, if only I struggle through,<br> I'll say the prayers I've forgotten since I lay on my mother's breast.<br>I seem going round in a circle; maybe the camp is near.<br> Say! did somebody holler? Was it a light I saw?<br>Or was it only a notion? I'll shout, and maybe they'll hear--<br> No! the wind only drowns me--shout till my throat is raw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The boys are all round the camp-fire wondering when I'll be back.<br> They'll soon be starting to seek me; they'll scarcely wait for the light.<br>What will they find, I wonder, when they come to the end of my track--<br> A hand stuck out of a snowdrift, frozen and stiff and white.<br>That's what they'll strike, I reckon; that's how they'll find their pard,<br> A pie-faced corpse in a snowbank--curse you, don't be a fool!<br>Play the game to the finish; bet on your very last card;<br>Nerve yourself for the struggle. Oh, you coward, keep cool!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm going to lick this blizzard; I'm going to live the night.<br> It can't down me with its bluster--I'm not the kind to be beat.<br>On hands and knees will I buck it; with every breath will I fight;<br> It's life, it's life that I fight for--never it seemed so sweet.<br>I know that my face is frozen; my hands are numblike and dead;<br> But oh, my feet keep a-moving, heavy and hard and slow;<br>They're trying to kill me, kill me, the night that's black overhead,<br> The wind that cuts like a razor, the whipcord lash of the snow.<br>Keep a-moving, a-moving; don't, don't stumble, you fool!<br> Curse this snow that's a-piling a-purpose to block my way.<br>It's heavy as gold in the rocker, it's white and fleecy as wool;<br> It's soft as a bed of feathers, it's warm as a stack of hay.<br>Curse on my feet that slip so, my poor tired, stumbling feet;<br> I guess they're a job for the surgeon, they feel so queerlike to lift--<br>I'll rest them just for a moment--oh, but to rest is sweet!<br> The awful wind cannot get me, deep, deep down in the drift.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Father, a bitter cry I heard,<br> Out of the night so dark and wild.<br> Why is my heart so strangely stirred?<br> 'Twas like the voice of our erring child.&quot; <br> &quot;Mother, mother, you only heard<br> A waterfowl in the locked lagoon--<br> Out of the night a wounded bird--<br> Rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who is it talks of sleeping? I'll swear that somebody shook<br> Me hard by the arm for a moment, but how on earth could it be?<br>See how my feet are moving--awfully funny they look--<br> Moving as if they belonged to a someone that wasn't me.<br>The wind down the night's long alley bowls me down like a pin;<br> I stagger and fall and stagger, crawl arm-deep in the snow.<br>Beaten back to my corner, how can I hope to win?<br> And there is the blizzard waiting to give me the knockout blow.<br>Oh, I'm so warm and sleepy! No more hunger and pain.<br> Just to rest for a moment; was ever rest such a joy?<br>Ha! what was that? I'll swear it, somebody shook me again;<br> Somebody seemed to whisper: &quot;Fight to the last, my boy.&quot;<br>Fight! That's right, I must struggle. I know that to rest means death;<br> Death, but then what does death mean? --ease from a world of strife.<br>Life has been none too pleasant; yet with my failing breath<br> Still and still must I struggle, fight for the gift of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">  * * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seems that I must be dreaming! Here is the old home trail;<br> Yonder a light is gleaming; oh, I know it so well!<br>The air is scented with clover; the cattle wait by the rail;<br> Father is through with the milking; there goes the supper-bell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  * * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mother, your boy is crying, out in the night and cold;<br> Let me in and forgive me, I'll never be bad any more:<br>I'm, oh, so sick and so sorry: please, dear mother, don't scold--<br> It's just your boy, and he wants you. . . . Mother, open the door. . . . </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Father, father, I saw a face<br> Pressed just now to the window-pane!<br> Oh, it gazed for a moment's space,<br> Wild and wan, and was gone again!&quot; <br> &quot;Mother, mother, you saw the snow<br> Drifted down from the maple tree<br> (Oh, the wind that is sobbing so!<br> Weary and worn and old are we)--<br> Only the snow and a wounded loon--<br> Rest and sleep, 'twill be morning soon.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</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=508434" data-title="Lost de Robert William Service" data-description="&quot;Black is the sky, but the land is white--
 (O the wind, the snow and the storm!)--
 Father, where is our boy to-night?
 Pray to God he is safe and warm.&quot;

 &quot;Mother, mother, why should you fear?
 Safe is he, and the Arctic moon
 Ove..."></div>
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