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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532778" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Perfect Marriage</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hate this yoke; for the world's sake here put it on:<br>Knowing 'twill weigh as much on you till life is gone.<br>Knowing you love your freedom dear, as I love mine—<br>Knowing that love unchained has been our life's great wine:<br>Our one great wine (yet spent too soon, and serving none;<br>Of the two cups free love at last the deadly one).</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We grant our meetings will be tame, not honey-sweet<br>No longer turning to the tryst with flying feet.<br>We know the toil that now must come will spoil the bloom<br>And tenderness of passion's touch, and in its room<br>Will come tame habit, deadly calm, sorrow and gloom.<br>Oh, how the battle sears the best who enter life!<br>Each soidier comes out blind or lame from the black strife.<br>Mad or diseased or damned of soul the best may come—<br>It matters not how merrily now rolls the drum,<br>The fife shrills high, the horn sings loud, till no steps lag—<br>And all adore that silken flame, Desire's great flag.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We will build strong our tiny fort, strong as we can—<br>Holding one inner room beyond the sword of man.<br>Love is too wide, it seems to-day, to hide it there.<br>It seems to flood the fields of corn, and gild the air—<br>It seems to breathe from every brook, from flowers to sigh—<br>It seems a cataract poured down from the great sky;<br>It seems a tenderness so vast no bush but shows<br>Its haunting and transfiguring light where wonder glows.<br>It wraps us in a silken snare by shadowy streams,<br>And wildering sweet and stung with joy your white soul seems<br>A flame, a flame, conquering day, conquering night,<br>Brought from our God, a holy thing, a mad delight.<br>But love, when all things beat it down, leaves the wide air,<br>The heavens are gray, and men turn wolves, lean with despair. <br>Ah, when we need love most, and weep, when all is dark,<br>Love is a pinch of ashes gray, with one live spark—<br>Yet on the hope to keep alive that treasure strange <br>Hangs all earth's struggle, strife and scorn, and desperate change.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Love? . . . we will scarcely love our babes full many a time—<br>Knowing their souls and ours too well, and all our grime—<br>And there beside our holy hearth we'll hide our eyes—<br>Lest we should flash what seems disdain without disguise.<br>Yet there shall be no wavering there in that deep trial— <br>And no false fire or stranger hand or traitor vile—<br>We'll fight the gloom and fight the world with strong sword-play, <br>Entrenched within our block-house small, ever at bay—<br>As fellow-warriors, underpaid, wounded and wild,<br>True to their battered flag, their faith still undefiled!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Vachel+Lindsay">Vachel Lindsay</a><div class=q>
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I hate this yoke; for the world's sake here put it on:
Knowing 'twill weigh as much on you till life is gone.
Knowing you love your freedom dear, as I love mine—
Knowing that love unchained has been our life's great wine:
Our one great wine (..."></div>
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