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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538002" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Earth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A midnight black with clouds is in the sky;<br>I seem to feel, upon my limbs, the weight<br>Of its vast brooding shadow. All in vain<br>Turns the tired eye in search of form; no star<br>Pierces the pitchy veil; no ruddy blaze,<br>From dwellings lighted by the cheerful hearth,<br>Tinges the flowering summits of the grass.<br>No sound of life is heard, no village hum,<br>Nor measured tramp of footstep in the path,<br>Nor rush of wing, while, on the breast of Earth,<br>I lie and listen to her mighty voice:<br>A voice of many tones--sent up from streams<br>That wander through the gloom, from woods unseen,<br>Swayed by the sweeping of the tides of air,<br>From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day,<br>And hollows of the great invisible hills,<br>And sands that edge the ocean, stretching far<br>Into the night--a melancholy sound!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Earth! dost thou too sorrow for the past<br>Like man thy offspring? Do I hear thee mourn<br>Thy childhood's unreturning hours, thy springs<br>Gone with their genial airs and melodies,<br>The gentle generations of thy flowers,<br>And thy majestic groves of olden time,<br>Perished with all their dwellers? Dost thou wail<br>For that fair age of which the poets tell,<br>Ere the rude winds grew keen with frost, or fire<br>Fell with the rains, or spouted from the hills,<br>To blast thy greenness, while the virgin night<br>Was guiltless and salubrious as the day?<br>Or haply dost thou grieve for those that die--<br>For living things that trod thy paths awhile,<br>The love of thee and heaven--and now they sleep<br>Mixed with the shapeless dust on which thy herds<br>Trample and graze? I too must grieve with thee,<br>O'er loved ones lost. Their graves are far away<br>Upon thy mountains; yet, while I recline<br>Alone, in darkness, on thy naked soil,<br>The mighty nourisher and burial-place<br>Of man, I feel that I embrace their dust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ha! how the murmur deepens! I perceive<br>And tremble at its dreadful import. Earth<br>Uplifts a general cry for guilt and wrong,<br>And heaven is listening. The forgotten graves<br>Of the heart-broken utter forth their plaint.<br>The dust of her who loved and was betrayed,<br>And him who died neglected in his age;<br>The sepulchres of those who for mankind<br>Laboured, and earned the recompense of scorn;<br>Ashes of martyrs for the truth, and bones<br>Of those who, in the strife for liberty,<br>Were beaten down, their corses given to dogs,<br>Their names to infamy, all find a voice.<br>The nook in which the captive, overtoiled,<br>Lay down to rest at last, and that which holds<br>Childhood's sweet blossoms, crushed by cruel hands,<br>Send up a plaintive sound. From battle-fields,<br>Where heroes madly drave and dashed their hosts<br>Against each other, rises up a noise,<br>As if the armed multitudes of dead<br>Stirred in their heavy slumber. Mournful tones<br>Come from the green abysses of the sea--<br>story of the crimes the guilty sought<br>To hide beneath its waves. The glens, the groves,<br>Paths in the thicket, pools of running brook,<br>And banks and depths of lake, and streets and lanes<br>Of cities, now that living sounds are hushed,<br>Murmur of guilty force and treachery.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, where I rest, the vales of Italy<br>Are round me, populous from early time,<br>And field of the tremendous warfare waged<br>'Twixt good and evil. Who, alas, shall dare<br>Interpret to man's ear the mingled voice<br>That comes from her old dungeons yawning now<br>To the black air, her amphitheatres,<br>Where the dew gathers on the mouldering stones,<br>And fanes of banished gods, and open tombs,<br>And roofless palaces, and streets and hearths<br>Of cities dug from their volcanic graves?<br>I hear a sound of many languages,<br>The utterance of nations now no more,<br>Driven out by mightier, as the days of heaven<br>Chase one another from the sky. The blood<br>Of freemen shed by freemen, till strange lords<br>Came in the hour of weakness, and made fast<br>The yoke that yet is worn, cries out to Heaven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What then shall cleanse thy bosom, gentle Earth<br>From all its painful memories of guilt?<br>The whelming flood, or the renewing fire,<br>Or the slow change of time? that so, at last,<br>The horrid tale of perjury and strife,<br>Murder and spoil, which men call history,<br>May seem a fable, like the inventions told<br>By poets of the gods of Greece. O thou,<br>Who sittest far beyond the Atlantic deep,<br>Among the sources of thy glorious streams,<br>My native Land of Groves! a newer page<br>In the great record of the world is thine;<br>Shall it be fairer? Fear, and friendly hope,<br>And envy, watch the issue, while the lines,<br>By which thou shalt be judged, are written down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</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=538002" data-title="Earth de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="A midnight black with clouds is in the sky;
I seem to feel, upon my limbs, the weight
Of its vast brooding shadow. All in vain
Turns the tired eye in search of form; no star
Pierces the pitchy veil; no ruddy blaze,
From dwellings lighted by the ch..."></div>
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