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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529161" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Westminster Abbey</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The Southern Transept, hardly known by any other name but Poets' Corner&quot;<br>DEAN STANLEY</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tread softly here; the sacredest of tombs <br>Are those that hold your poets. Kings and queens <br>Are facile accidents of Time and Chance. <br>Chance sets them on the heights, they climb not there! <br>But he who from the darkling mass of men <br>Is on the wing of heavenly thought upborne <br>To finer ether, and becomes a voice <br>For all the voiceless, God annointed him: <br>His name shall be a star, his grave a shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tread softly here, in silent reverence tread. <br>Beneath those marble cenotaphs and urns <br>Lies richer dust than ever nature hid <br>Packed in the mountain's adamantine heart, <br>Or slyly wrapt in unsuspected sand-- <br>The dross men toil for, and oft stain the soul. <br>How vain and all ignoble seems that greed <br>To him who stands in this dim claustral air <br>With these most sacred ashes at his feet! <br>This dust was Chaucer, Spenser, Dryden this-- <br>The spark that once illumed it lingers still. <br>O ever-hallowed spot of English earth! <br>If the unleashed and unhappy spirit of man <br>Have option to visit our dull globe, <br>What august Shades at midnight here convene <br>In the miraculous sessions of the moon, <br>When the great pulse of London faintly throbs, <br>And one by one the stars in heaven pale!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Bailey+Aldrich">Thomas Bailey Aldrich</a><div class=q>
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DEAN STANLEY

Tread softly here; the sacredest of tombs 
Are those that hold your poets. Kings and queens 
Are facile accidents of Time and Chance. 
Chance sets th..."></div>
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