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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521215" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The General Public</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?&quot; -- Browning. <br>&quot;Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then,&quot; <br>The old man said. A dry smile creased his face <br>With many wrinkles. &quot;That's a great poem, now! <br>That one of Browning's! Shelley? Shelley plain? <br>The time that I remember best is this -- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A thin mire crept along the rutted ways, <br>And all the trees were harried by cold rain <br>That drove a moment fiercely and then ceased, <br>Falling so slow it hung like a grey mist <br>Over the school. The walks were like blurred glass. <br>The buildings reeked with vapor, black and harsh <br>Against the deepening darkness of the sky; <br>And each lamp was a hazy yellow moon, <br>Filling the space about with golden motes, <br>And making all things larger than they were. <br>One yellow halo hung above a door, <br>That gave on a black passage. Round about <br>Struggled a howling crowd of boys, pell-mell, <br>Pushing and jostling like a stormy sea, <br>With shouting faces, turned a pasty white <br>By the strange light, for foam. They all had clods, <br>Or slimy balls of mud. A few gripped stones. <br>And there, his back against the battered door, <br>His pile of books scattered about his feet, <br>Stood Shelley while two others held him fast, <br>And the clods beat upon him. `Shelley! Shelley!' <br>The high shouts rang through all the corridors, <br>`Shelley! Mad Shelley! Come along and help!' <br>And all the crowd dug madly at the earth, <br>Scratching and clawing at the streaming mud, <br>And fouled each other and themselves. And still <br>Shelley stood up. His eyes were like a flame <br>Set in some white, still room; for all his face <br>Was white, a whiteness like no human color, <br>But white and dreadful as consuming fire. <br>His hands shook now and then, like slender cords <br>Which bear too heavy weights. He did not speak. <br>So I saw Shelley plain.&quot; <br>&quot;And you?&quot; I said. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I? I threw straighter than the most of them, <br>And had firm clods. I hit him -- well, at least <br>Thrice in the face. He made good sport that night.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Stephen+Vincent+Benet">Stephen Vincent Benet</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=521215" data-title="The General Public de Stephen Vincent Benet" data-description="&quot;Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?&quot; -- Browning. 
&quot;Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then,&quot; 
The old man said. A dry smile creased his face 
With many wrinkles. &quot;That's a great poem, now! 
That one of Browning's! Shelley..."></div>
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