<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536681" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Happy Warrior</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Glory to God who made a man like this!<br>To God be praise who in the empty heaven<br>Set Earth's gay globe<br>With its green vesture given<br>And nuptial robe<br>To be the home enthroned of happiness!<br>Who from the silences<br>Of the dumb Universe,<br>For listening ears,<br>Constructed song<br>And fashioned the first note<br>Of the first linnet's throat,<br>His audible whisper the deep woods among!<br>Who, with His dance--masters,<br>The dappled deer<br>And their fleet fawns,<br>With rhythmic beat<br>Of their light feet<br>Upon the thyme--sweet lawns,<br>Framed the free gamut of the wakening year<br>And gave command to mirth His minister<br>That all things young and glad<br>And mad,<br>In this fair world's expanse<br>Should dance!<br>Praise be! and most for these,<br>The lyric ecstasies<br>Sublime in each least lot,<br>The passionate plot<br>Subtly contrived to propagate their kind<br>By beast and bird and in Man's livelier mind<br>To make of life new life,<br>Of joy new joy, in corporal bliss<br>Entwined,<br>Man's who is man and wife,<br>Though neither he have thought<br>Nor she, in their love blind,<br>Of that child's smile<br>Half hers half his<br>Unborn, the while<br>They clasp and kiss!<br>These are the vastnesses<br>That bid us give God glory for his depths of guile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he? The ultimate man,<br>The heir of their delight,<br>Whose keener sight<br>Grasped the full vision of Time's master--plan,<br>And who, because he knew,<br>Found power to do<br>What the rest dared not and was thus the priest<br>Of the divine high feast<br>Of Love on Earth? Poet, whose prosody<br>Embraced heaven's infinite blue<br>And the white light of stars,<br>The moon's proud chastity<br>And the sea beating on its prison bars;<br>Whose ritual<br>Was the procession of the months and days<br>In ordered praise<br>Of ceremonial flowers, Earth's virginal<br>Patchwork of shredded colours in the grass;<br>Whose incense was<br>The mist of morning, and whose sacrifice<br>The sun in splendour by whose light all live?<br>How shall we give<br>To one thus wise<br>Our homage who so loved him and alas<br>Now weep for him with unavailing eyes?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For what is wisdom more than this one thought,<br>To harvest happiness? Time has its wheat,<br>Its rule of life discreet,<br>By scholars taught,<br>For daily bread; and its weeds too,<br>Its wild crop of the woods which is not bought,<br>Its way that fools call folly,<br>Choke--pear, crab, holly,<br>All the riot<br>Of the bird's diet,<br>For maid and boy,<br>Their winter--pick of joy,<br>If they but knew!<br>And these to learn and gather in their prime<br>Is youth's sublime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here lay his victory. Not flowers alone<br>Nor fruits were his,<br>But the world's sadnesses<br>He gathered also, its loves lost and gone,<br>The tragic things that are<br>As the maple leaves<br>Of the fast dying year,<br>Crowning its funeral car,<br>The glory of its passing set on fire<br>In the late hedges,<br>The wreathed bryony<br>Black with the Autumn saltings of the Sea,<br>And those lone sedges at the lake's edges<br>Which winter winds have whitened on the mere.<br>These, as the symbols of his Soul's romance<br>In antique lands,<br>He bound into the sheaves<br>Of his desire,<br>A wreath,<br>Nobler for death.<br>Of these he fashioned a new chivalry<br>For days to be,<br>Incorporate with the glories of all Time,<br>The immortal rhyme<br>Of Roland and the paladins of France,<br>Of Charlemagne,<br>The Cid Bivar of Spain,<br>And those pround questers of the Holy Grail<br>Who rode with Arthur cap à pie in mail,<br>Till in his hands<br>It seemed the actual lance<br>Of Lancelot trembled and took edge and shook<br>Defiance at his foes in Lyonnesse,<br>No less than those<br>Of whom it is written in the old French book<br>That he pursued and slew and scattering rent<br>Their ranks in fear,<br>While the Earth trembled his glad shout to hear.<br>So he in his high rage in Parliament.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Anon, too, at the feasts<br>Where with the knights and ladies crowned he sat,<br>Their laureate<br>Of that famed Table Round, its pleasure's lord,<br>His was the tongue<br>To celebrate their praise,<br>Theirs the adored,<br>With virile minstrelsy and mirth and song,<br>And generous wine<br>Outpoured<br>In draughts divine from flagons<br>Rich with the mellow fruitage of the vine;<br>His was the tongue<br>To tell of valorous deeds<br>Done for high honour's needs<br>On pestilent dragons in dank forest places<br>Vanquished and slain, and felon knights laid low,<br>For fair loved faces<br>In days long ago;<br>Amorous sad tales of dolorous mistakes<br>At hands that sought to save;<br>Ancient heart--aches,<br>Each laid to rest in its forgotten grave.<br>And with them griefs, which venturing found their hour,<br>Fruitage and flower,<br>And were fulfilled of joy;--and chiefly hers,<br>Royal sad Guinevere's<br>Noblest of all among the tragic dead.<br>Of her he loved to tell.<br>And he did well;<br>For she, the lady of his dreams, one night,<br>As it is said,<br>In Glastonbury,<br>Hearing his young steps hurry<br>As to a goal,<br>To kneel at her dead feet,<br>Where as she lay with her sleep--folded palms<br>In the long calms<br>Of a passed soul,<br>Did from her cerements white<br>Awake,<br>And feel her passionate heart beat<br>To his desire,<br>And in new bride's attire<br>Arise and live a woman for his sake,<br>A woman and no dream.<br>These were the rhapsodies of life to him,<br>The things that his heart's zeal<br>Made real.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And who shall wonder if to--day we weep<br>Our Prince of happiness,<br>Our warrior dead?<br>If we, who saw<br>These wonders beyond law,<br>And his proud soul's essay<br>To live the great life of the Fellowship<br>In our late day,<br>Should mourn him fled,<br>Yet, none the less,<br>Give praise<br>To God, with chastened but undoubting lip,<br>For this exemplar of His works and ways?<br>Since that we know that in His scheme of bliss<br>No permanent anguish is,<br>But beauty only and high ruth and truth,<br>And that Life's law is this:<br>Pleasure is duty, duty pleasure<br>In equal measure;<br>And Time's happiness<br>God's all--sufficient reason with the wise,<br>As with this man<br>Who sleeps in Paradise.</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=536681" data-title="To A Happy Warrior de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="Glory to God who made a man like this! To God be praise who in the empty heaven Set Earth's gay globe With its green vesture given And nuptial robe To be the home enthroned of happiness! Who from the silences Of the dumb Universe, For listening ea..."></div> </div> </div>

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