<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538058" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Greek Boy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,<br>Glorious in mien and mind;<br>Their bones are mingled with the mould,<br>Their dust is on the wind;<br>The forms they hewed from living stone<br>Survive the waste of years, alone,<br>And, scattered with their ashes, show<br>What greatness perished long ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet fresh the myrtles there--the springs<br>Gush brightly as of yore;<br>Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,<br>As many an age before.<br>There nature moulds as nobly now,<br>As e'er of old, the human brow;<br>And copies still the martial form<br>That braved Plataea's battle storm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek<br>Their heaven in Hellas' skies:<br>Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,<br>Her sunshine lit thine eyes;<br>Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains<br>Heard by old poets, and thy veins<br>Swell with the blood of demigods,<br>That slumber in thy country's sods.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now is thy nation free--though late--<br>Thy elder brethren broke--<br>Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight,<br>The intolerable yoke.<br>And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see<br>Her youth renewed in such as thee:<br>A shoot of that old vine that made<br>The nations silent in its shade.</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> <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=538058" data-title="The Greek Boy de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="Gone are the glorious Greeks of old, Glorious in mien and mind; Their bones are mingled with the mould, Their dust is on the wind; The forms they hewed from living stone Survive the waste of years, alone, And, scattered with their ashes, show What..."></div> </div> </div>

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