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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536912" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Four Zoas (excerpt)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song? <br>Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price<br>Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.<br>Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy,<br>And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun<br>And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn.<br>It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,<br>To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,<br>To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season<br>When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements,<br>To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;<br>To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast;<br>To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house;<br>To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the sickness that cuts off his children,<br>While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door, and our children bring fruits and flowers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the mill,<br>And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field<br>When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:<br>Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Compel the poor to live upon a crust of bread, by soft mild arts.<br>Smile when they frown, frown when they smile; and when a man looks pale<br>With labour and abstinence, say he looks healthy and happy;<br>And when his children sicken, let them die; there are enough<br>Born, even too many, and our earth will be overrun<br>Without these arts. If you would make the poor live with temper,<br>With pomp give every crust of bread you give; with gracious cunning<br>Magnify small gifts; reduce the man to want a gift, and then give with pomp.<br>Say he smiles if you hear him sigh. If pale, say he is ruddy.<br>Preach temperance: say he is overgorg'd and drowns his wit<br>In strong drink, though you know that bread and water are all<br>He can afford. Flatter his wife, pity his children, till we can<br>Reduce all to our will, as spaniels are taught with art.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning,<br>And the mild moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night,<br>And Man walks forth from midst of the fires: the evil is all consum'd.<br>His eyes behold the Angelic spheres arising night and day;<br>The stars consum'd like a lamp blown out, and in their stead, behold<br>The expanding eyes of Man behold the depths of wondrous worlds!<br>One Earth, one sea beneath; nor erring globes wander, but stars<br> Of fire rise up nightly from the ocean; and one sun<br>Each morning, like a new born man, issues with songs and joy<br>Calling the Plowman to his labour and the Shepherd to his rest.<br>He walks upon the Eternal Mountains, raising his heavenly voice,<br>Conversing with the animal forms of wisdom night and day,<br>That, risen from the sea of fire, renew'd walk o'er the Earth;<br>For Tharmas brought his flocks upon the hills, and in the vales<br>Around the Eternal Man's bright tent, the little children play<br>Among the woolly flocks. The hammer of Urthona sounds<br>In the deep caves beneath; his limbs renew'd, his Lions roar<br>Around the Furnaces and in evening sport upon the plains.<br>They raise their faces from the earth, conversing with the Man: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'How is it we have walk'd through fires and yet are not consum'd?<br>How is it that all things are chang'd, even as in ancient times?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Blake">William Blake</a><div class=q>
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Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to b..."></div>
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