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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538328" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Bard</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where dwells the spirit of the Bard--what sky<br>Persuades his daring wing,--<br>Folded in soft carnation, or in snow<br>Still sleeping, far o'er summits of the cloud,<br>And, with a seeming, sweet unconsciousness,<br>Wooing his plume, through baffling storms to fly,<br>Assured of all that ever yet might bless<br>The spirit, by love and loftiest hope made proud,<br>Would he but struggle for the dear caress!--<br>Or would his giant spring,<br>Impelled by holiest ire,<br>Assail the sullen summits of the storm,<br>Bent with broad breast and still impatient form,<br>Where clouds unfold themselves in leaping fire!<br>What vision wins his soul,--<br>What passion wings his flight,--<br>What dream of conquest woos his eager eye!--<br>How glows he with the strife,--<br>How spurns he at control,--<br>With what unmeasured rage would he defy<br>The foes that rise around and threaten life!--<br>His upward flight is fair,<br>He goes through parting air,<br>He breaks the barrier cloud, he sees the eye that's there,<br>The centre of the realm of storm that mocked him but to dare!<br>And now he grasps the prize,<br>That on the summit lies,<br>And binds the burning jewel to his brow;<br>Transfigured by its bright,<br>He wears a mightier face,<br>Nor grovels more in likeness of the earth;--<br>His wing a bolder flight,<br>His step a wilder grace,<br>He glows, the creature of a holier birth;--<br>Suns sing, and stars glow glad around his light;<br>And thus he speeds afar,<br>'Mid gathering sun and star,<br>The sov'reign, he, of worlds, where these but subjects are;<br>And men that marked his wing with mocking sight,<br>Do watch and wonder now;--<br>Will watch and worship with delight, anon,<br>When far from hiss and hate, his upward form hath gone!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">0h! ere that van was won,<br>Whose flight hath braved the sun--<br>Whose daring strength and aim<br>Have scaled the heights of cloud and bared their breasts of flame;<br>What lowly toil was done,--<br>How slow the moments sped,--<br>How bitter were the pangs that vexed the heart and head!<br>The burden which he bore,<br>The thorns his feet that tore,<br>The cruel wounds he suffered with no moan,--<br>Alone,--and still alone!--<br>Denial, which could smile,<br>Beholding, all the while,<br>How salter than the sea were the salt tears he shed;<br>And over all, the curse,<br>Than all of these more worse.<br>Prostrate, before the common way, to bear<br>The feet of hissing things,<br>Whose toil it is to tear,<br>And cramp the glorious creature born to wings!<br>Ah! should he once despair!--</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>Not lonely, with the sad nymph Solitude,<br>Deep in the cover of the ancient wood,<br>Where the sun leaves him, and the happy dawn,<br>Stealing with blushes over the gray lawn,<br>Stills finds him, all forgetful of the flight <br>Of hours, that passing still from dark to bright,<br>Know not to loiter,--all their progress naught:--<br>His eye, unconscious of the day, is bright <br>With inward vision; till, as sudden freed,<br>By the superior quest of a proud thought,<br>He darts away with an unmeasured speed;<br>His pinion purpling as he gains the height,<br>Where still, though all obscured from mortal sight,<br>He bathes him in the late smiles of the sun;--<br>And oh! the glory, as he guides his steed,<br>Flakes from his pinions falling, as they soar <br>To mounts where Eos binds her buskins on <br>And proud Artemis, watching by her well,<br>For one,---sole fortunate of all his race,--<br>With hand upon his mouth her beagle stays,<br>Lest he should baffle sounds too sweet to lose,<br>That even now are gliding with the dews.<br>How nobly he arrays <br>His robes for flight--his robes, the woven of songs,<br>Borrowed from starry spheres,--with each a muse <br>That, with her harmonies, maintains its dance <br>Celestial, and its circles bright prolongs.<br>Fair ever, but with warrior form and face,<br>He stands before the eye of each young grace <br>Beguiling the sweet passion from her cell,<br>And still subjecting beauty by the glance,<br>Which speaks his own subjection to a spell.<br>The eldest born of rapture, that makes Love,<br>At once submissive and the Conqueror.<br>He conquers but to bring deliverance,<br>And with deliverance light;--<br>To conquer, he has only to explore,--<br>And makes a permanent empire, but to spread,<br>Though speeding on with unobserving haste,--<br>A wing above the waste.<br>A single feather from his pinion shed,<br>A single beam of beauty from his eye, <br>Takes captive of the dim sleeping realm below, <br>Through eyes of truest worshippers, that straight <br>Bring shouts to welcome and bright flowers to wreathe <br>His altars; and, as those, to life from death, <br>Plucked sudden, in their gratitude and faith <br>Deem him a god who wrought the miracle,--<br>So do they take him to their shrines, and vow <br>Their annual incense of sweet song and smell, <br>For him to whom their happiness they owe. <br>Thus goes he still from desert shore to shore, <br>Where life in darkness droops, where beauty errs, <br>Having no worshippers, <br>And lacking sympathy for the light!--The eye<br>That is the spirit of his wing, no more, <br>This progress once begun, can cease to soar, <br>Suffers eclipse, or sleeps!--<br>No more be furled <br>The wing,--that, from the first decreed to fly, <br>Must speed to daily conquests, deep and high, <br>Till no domain of dark unlighted keeps, <br>And all the realm of strife beneath the sky <br>Grows one, in beauty and peace for evermore,--<br>Soothed to eternal office of delight, <br>By these that wing the soul on its first flight, <br>For these are the great spirits that shape the world!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Gilmore+Simms">William Gilmore Simms</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=538328" data-title="The Bard de William Gilmore Simms" data-description="Where dwells the spirit of the Bard--what sky
Persuades his daring wing,--
Folded in soft carnation, or in snow
Still sleeping, far o'er summits of the cloud,
And, with a seeming, sweet unconsciousness,
Wooing his plume, through baffling storms to..."></div>
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