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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508581" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Portent</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Courage mes gars:<br>La guerre est proche.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I plant my little plot of beans,<br>I sit beneath my cyprus tree;<br>I do not know what trouble means,<br>I cultivate tranquillity . . .<br>But as to-day my walk I made<br>In all serenity and cheer,<br>I saw cut in an agave blade:<br>&quot;Courage, my comrades, war is near!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seward I went, my feet were slow,<br>Awhile I dowsed upon the shore;<br>And then I roused with fear for lo!<br>I saw six grisly ships of war.<br>A grim, grey line of might and dread<br>Against the skyline looming sheer:<br>With horror to myself I said:<br>&quot;Courage, my comrades, war is near!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw my cottage on the hill<br>With rambling roses round the door;<br>It was so peaceful and so still<br>I sighed . . . and then it was no more.<br>A flash of flame, a rubble heap;<br>I cried aloud with woe and fear . . .<br>And wok myself from troubled sleep -<br>My home was safe, war was not near.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, I am old, my step is frail,<br>My carcase bears a score of scars,<br>And as I climbed my homeward trail<br>Sadly I thought of other wars.<br>And when that agave leaf I saw<br>With vicious knife I made a blear<br>Of words clean-cut into the raw:<br>&quot;Courage, my comrades, war is near!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who put hem there I do not know -<br>One of these rabid reds, no doubt;<br>But I for freedom struck my blow,<br>With bitter blade I scraped them out.<br>There now, said I, I will forget,<br>And smoke my pipe and drink my beer -<br>Yet in my mind these words were set:<br>&quot;Courage, my comrades, war is near!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Courage, my comrades, war is near!&quot;<br>I hear afar its hateful drums;<br>Its horrid din assails my ear:<br>I hope I die before it comes. . . .<br>Yet as into the town I go,<br>And listen to the rabble cheer,<br>I think with heart of weary woe:<br>War is not coming - WAR IS HERE.</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=508581" data-title="Portent de Robert William Service" data-description="Courage mes gars:
La guerre est proche.

I plant my little plot of beans,
I sit beneath my cyprus tree;
I do not know what trouble means,
I cultivate tranquillity . . .
But as to-day my walk I made
In all serenity and cheer,
I saw cut in an agave ..."></div>
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