<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537161" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>September 1913</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What need you, being come to sense,<br>But fumble in a greasy till<br>And add the halfpence to the pence<br>And prayer to shivering prayer, until<br>You have dried the marrow from the bone?<br>For men were born to pray and save:<br>Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,<br>It's with O'Leary in the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet they were of a different kind,<br>The names that stilled your childish play,<br>They have gone about the world like wind,<br>But little time had they to pray<br>For whom the hangman's rope was spun,<br>And what, God help us, could they save?<br>Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,<br>It's with O'Leary in the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it for this the wild geese spread<br>The grey wing upon every tide;<br>For this that all that blood was shed,<br>For this Edward Fitzgerald died,<br>And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,<br>All that delirium of the brave?<br>Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,<br>It's with O'Leary in the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet could we turn the years again,<br>And call those exiles as they were<br>In all their loneliness and pain,<br>You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair<br>Has maddened every mother's son':<br>They weighed so lightly what they gave.<br>But let them be, they're dead and gone,<br>They're with O'Leary in the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Butler+Yeats">William Butler Yeats</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=537161" data-title="September 1913 de William Butler Yeats" data-description="What need you, being come to sense, But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, until You have dried the marrow from the bone? For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black