Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508686" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Atavist</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What are you doing here, Tom Thorne, on the white top-knot o' the world,<br>Where the wind has the cut of a naked knife and the stars are rapier keen?<br>Hugging a smudgy willow fire, deep in a lynx robe curled,<br>You that's a lord's own son, Tom Thorne -- what does your madness mean?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Go home, go home to your clubs, Tom Thorne! home to your evening dress!<br>Home to your place of power and pride, and the feast that waits for you!<br>Why do you linger all alone in the splendid emptiness,<br>Scouring the Land of the Little Sticks on the trail of the caribou?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why did you fall off the Earth, Tom Thorne, out of our social ken?<br>What did your deep damnation prove? What was your dark despair?<br>Oh with the width of a world between, and years to the count of ten,<br>If they cut out your heart to-night, Tom Thorne, her name would be graven there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And you fled afar for the thing called Peace, and you thought you would find it here,<br>In the purple tundras vastly spread, and the mountains whitely piled;<br>It's a weary quest and a dreary quest, but I think that the end is near;<br>For they say that the Lord has hidden it in the secret heart of the Wild.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And you know that heart as few men know, and your eyes are fey and deep,<br>With a &quot;something lost&quot; come welling back from the raw, red dawn of life:<br>With woe and pain have you greatly lain, till out of abysmal sleep<br>The soul of the Stone Age leaps in you, alert for the ancient strife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if you came to our feast again, with its pomp and glee and glow,<br>I think you would sit stone-still, Tom Thorne, and see in a daze of dream,<br>A mad sun goading to frenzied flame the glittering gems of the snow,<br>And a monster musk-ox bulking black against the blood-red gleam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think you would see berg-battling shores, and stammer and halt and stare,<br>With a sudden sense of the frozen void, serene and vast and still;<br>And the aching gleam and the hush of dream, and the track of a great white bear,<br>And the primal lust that surged in you as you sprang to make your kill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think you would hear the bull-moose call, and the glutted river roar;<br>And spy the hosts of the caribou shadow the shining plain;<br>And feel the pulse of the Silences, and stand elate once more<br>On the verge of the yawning vastitudes that call to you in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For I think you are one with the stars and the sun, and the wind and the wave and the dew;<br>And the peaks untrod that yearn to God, and the valleys undefiled;<br>Men soar with wings, and they bridle kings, but what is it all to you,<br>Wise in the ways of the wilderness, and strong with the strength of the Wild?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You have spent your life, you have waged your strife where never we play a part;<br>You have held the throne of the Great Unknown, you have ruled a kingdom vast:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But to-night there's a strange, new trail for you, and you go, O weary heart!<br>To the place and rest of the Great Unguessed . . . at last, Tom Thorne, at last.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=508686" data-title="The Atavist de Robert William Service" data-description="What are you doing here, Tom Thorne, on the white top-knot o' the world,
Where the wind has the cut of a naked knife and the stars are rapier keen?
Hugging a smudgy willow fire, deep in a lynx robe curled,
You that's a lord's own son, Tom Thorne -..."></div>
</div>
</div>