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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538865" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Day Is Coming</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come hither lads and hearken,<br>for a tale there is to tell,<br>Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all<br>shall be better than well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the tale shall be told of a country,<br>a land in the midst of the sea,<br>And folk shall call it England<br>in the days that are going to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There more than one in a thousand<br>in the days that are yet to come,<br>Shall have some hope of the morrow,<br>some joy of the ancient home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For then, laugh not, but listen,<br>to this strange tale of mine,<br>All folk that are in England<br>shall be better lodged than swine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then a man shall work and bethink him,<br>and rejoice in the deeds of his hand,<br>Nor yet come home in the even<br>too faint and weary to stand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men in that time a-coming<br>shall work and have no fear<br>For to-morrow’s lack of earning<br>and the hunger-wolf anear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tell you this for a wonder,<br>that no man then shall be glad<br>Of his fellow’s fall and mishap<br>to snatch at the work he had.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For that which the worker winneth<br>shall then be his indeed,<br>Nor shall half be reaped for nothing<br>by him that sowed no seed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O strange new wonderful justice!<br>But for whom shall we gather the gain?<br>For ourselves and for each of our fellows,<br>and no hand shall labour in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours,<br>and no more shall any man crave<br>For riches that serve for nothing<br>but to fetter a friend for a slave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And what wealth then shall be left us<br>when none shall gather gold<br>To buy his friend in the market,<br>and pinch and pine the sold?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, what save the lovely city,<br>and the little house on the hill,<br>And the wastes and the woodland beauty,<br>and the happy fields we till;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the homes of ancient stories,<br>the tombs of the mighty dead;<br>And the wise men seeking out marvels,<br>and the poet’s teeming head;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the painter’s hand of wonder;<br>and the marvellous fiddle-bow,<br>And the banded choirs of music:<br>all those that do and know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For all these shall be ours and all men’s<br>nor shall any lack a share<br>Of the toil and the gain of living<br>in the days when the world grows fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! such are the days that shall be!<br>But what are the deeds of to-day,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the days of the years we dwell in,<br>that wear our lives away?<br>Why, then, and for what are we waiting?<br>There are three words to speak;<br>WE WILL IT, and what is the foeman<br>but the dream-strong wakened and weak?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O why and for what are we waiting?<br>while our brothers droop and die,<br>And on every wind of the heavens<br>a wasted life goes by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How long shall they reproach us<br>where crowd on crowd they dwell,<br>Poor ghosts of the wicked city,<br>the gold-crushed hungry hell?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through squalid life they laboured,<br>in sordid grief they died,<br>Those sons of a mighty mother,<br>those props of England’s pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are gone; there is none can undo it,<br>nor save our souls from the curse;<br>But many a million cometh,<br>and shall they be better or worse?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is we must answer and hasten,<br>and open wide the door<br>For the rich man’s hurrying terror,<br>and the slow-foot hope of the poor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched,<br>and their unlearned discontent,<br>We must give it voice and wisdom<br>till the waiting-tide be spent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, then, since all things call us,<br>the living and the dead,<br>And o’er the weltering tangle<br>a glimmering light is shed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, then, let us cast off fooling,<br>and put by ease and rest,<br>For the Cause alone is worthy<br>till the good days bring the best.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, join in the only battle<br>wherein no man can fail,<br>Where whoso fadeth and dieth,<br>yet his deed shall still prevail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! come, cast off all fooling,<br>for this, at least, we know:<br>That the Dawn and the Day is coming,<br>and forth the Banners go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Morris">William Morris</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=538865" data-title="The Day Is Coming de William Morris" data-description="Come hither lads and hearken,
for a tale there is to tell,
Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all
shall be better than well.

And the tale shall be told of a country,
a land in the midst of the sea,
And folk shall call it England
in the days tha..."></div>
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