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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536693" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Whom The Gods Love</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whom the gods love die young. Ah, do not doubt of it.<br>Laura did well to die. Our loss was a gain for her,<br>Ours who so loved her laughter, ours who at thought of it<br>Shrink from a wound yet tender, wailing in vain for her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full was her life, a well--spring, brimmed to the brink of it,<br>Giving of its abundance alms to humanity.<br>We, with our life's cup empty, paused there to drink of it,<br>Rose with our souls ennobled, purged of their vanity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which of us all but loved her, knelt to her, prayed to her?<br>She was our queen, our Soul--saint, first in our Calendar.<br>``Laura,'' our lips breathed, ``Laura,'' vowing our aid to her,<br>Each as her fame's proclaimer, champion and challenger.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which but might deem she loved him? Which, when she smiled on him,<br>Nursed not for his consoling dreams of felicity?<br>Which, in her eyes, read no hope, when like a child on him<br>Turned she those orbs appealing masked in simplicity?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, there was none went wounded, even when ``No'' to him<br>Came as the last sad answer ending his argument.<br>``No?'' 'Twas hope's affirmation, boding no woe to him,<br>Rather a sweet postponing framed for encouragement.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why should he weep? He wept not. Dear was her way with him.<br>Had she not given of all things more than he gave to her?<br>Had not her lips poured plenty, wise words and gay with him?<br>Why should his farewell falter, fool hands not wave to her?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I too with these essayed love. I too my joy with her<br>Sought in her wild girl's garden, idly, a censurer,<br>Learned what the rest had learned there, deemed like a boy with her<br>I too, that Laura loved me, kneeled my heart's venturer,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wooed her and went forth weeping, yet with her name for me<br>Stored as a sweet remembrance deep in the heart of me,<br>Grieving my day departed; still as high fame for me<br>Chaunting it, each sad evening, proud as a part of me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whom the gods love! Ay truly. Why should we mourn for her<br>Dowered with all youth for portion, spared our infirmity?<br>Nay, 'twere for her to pity us, the forlorn for her,<br>Laughing her gay girl's laughter, glad through Eternity.</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=536693" data-title="Whom The Gods Love de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="Whom the gods love die young. Ah, do not doubt of it.
Laura did well to die. Our loss was a gain for her,
Ours who so loved her laughter, ours who at thought of it
Shrink from a wound yet tender, wailing in vain for her.

Full was her life, a well..."></div>
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