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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536527" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On The Way To Church</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is one I know. I see her sometimes pass<br>In the morning streets upon her way to Mass,<br>A calm sweet woman with unearthly eyes.<br>Men turn to look at her, but ever stop,<br>Reading in those blue depths the death of hope<br>And a wise chastisement for thoughts unwise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pure is her brow as of a marble Saint.<br>Her brown hair pencils it with ripples faint.<br>There is no shadow on it and no light.<br>Her cheeks are pale like lilies in eclipse.<br>Hardly a little redness on her lips<br>Paints the sad smile where all the rest is white.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tall is she and bent forward like a reed<br>Which the wind toys with as she walks with speed:<br>Girl--like her limbs and virginal her waist.<br>Of the world's wonders there is none so sweet<br>As this, the summer lightning of her feet,<br>Speeding her onward like a fawn in haste.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What is her secret? All the world has tried<br>To guess it. One I knew in guessing died<br>And was no wiser for his mortal pain.<br>Each has turned sadder from the thankless quest,<br>And gone back silent, even if he guessed,<br>Knowing all answer would be counted vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I knew her once. I know her not to--day.<br>Our eyes meet sometimes, but hers turn away<br>Quicker from mine than from the rest that look.<br>Her pale cheek quivers, a flush comes and goes,<br>As in the presence of a soul that knows,<br>And her hands tighten on her missal book.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men have done evil yet have won to Heaven,<br>Lived in blood guiltiness yet died forgiven.<br>May I not, I too, one day win my grace?<br>Ah no. The sacrilege of this worst sin<br>Outweighs all grace. I dare not enter in<br>Nor kneel, God's robber, near that angel face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</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=536527" data-title="On The Way To Church de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="There is one I know. I see her sometimes pass
In the morning streets upon her way to Mass,
A calm sweet woman with unearthly eyes.
Men turn to look at her, but ever stop,
Reading in those blue depths the death of hope
And a wise chastisement for t..."></div>
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