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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Young Blood</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;But, sir,&quot; I said, &quot;they tell me the man is like to die!&quot; The Canon shook his head indulgently. &quot;Young blood, Cousin,&quot; he boomed. &quot;Young blood! Youth will be served!&quot; <br>-- D'Hermonville's Fabliaux. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He woke up with a sick taste in his mouth <br>And lay there heavily, while dancing motes <br>Whirled through his brain in endless, rippling streams, <br>And a grey mist weighed down upon his eyes <br>So that they could not open fully. Yet <br>After some time his blurred mind stumbled back <br>To its last ragged memory -- a room; <br>Air foul with wine; a shouting, reeling crowd <br>Of friends who dragged him, dazed and blind with drink <br>Out to the street; a crazy rout of cabs; <br>The steady mutter of his neighbor's voice, <br>Mumbling out dull obscenity by rote; <br>And then . . . well, they had brought him home it seemed, <br>Since he awoke in bed -- oh, damn the business! <br>He had not wanted it -- the silly jokes, <br>&quot;One last, great night of freedom ere you're married!&quot; <br>&quot;You'll get no fun then!&quot; &quot;H-ssh, don't tell that story! <br>He'll have a wife soon!&quot; -- God! the sitting down <br>To drink till you were sodden! . . . <br>Like great light <br>She came into his thoughts. That was the worst. <br>To wallow in the mud like this because <br>His friends were fools. . . . He was not fit to touch, <br>To see, oh far, far off, that silver place <br>Where God stood manifest to man in her. . . . <br>Fouling himself. . . . One thing he brought to her, <br>At least. He had been clean; had taken it <br>A kind of point of honor from the first . . . <br>Others might do it . . . but he didn't care <br>For those things. . . . <br>Suddenly his vision cleared. <br>And something seemed to grow within his mind. . . . <br>Something was wrong -- the color of the wall -- <br>The queer shape of the bedposts -- everything <br>Was changed, somehow . . . his room. Was this his room? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . He turned his head -- and saw beside him there <br>The sagging body's slope, the paint-smeared face, <br>And the loose, open mouth, lax and awry, <br>The breasts, the bleached and brittle hair . . . these things. <br>. . . As if all Hell were crushed to one bright line <br>Of lightning for a moment. Then he sank, <br>Prone beneath an intolerable weight. <br>And bitter loathing crept up all his limbs.</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=521224" data-title="Young Blood de Stephen Vincent Benet" data-description="&quot;But, sir,&quot; I said, &quot;they tell me the man is like to die!&quot; The Canon shook his head indulgently. &quot;Young blood, Cousin,&quot; he boomed. &quot;Young blood! Youth will be served!&quot; 
-- D'Hermonville's Fabliaux. 


He wok..."></div>
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