<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=580778" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Troubled By Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the memory of A. E. Housman. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Born, in the year of Darwin's 'Origin', <br>Where secret worlds of unrest grow; <br>His inward lips were tenderly pressed<br>Over the lines of Juvenal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His passion: silent - humanity's ache<br>Under the touch, lies far away...<br>And in the night, there is no sleep<br>To stamp over the angles of each day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Words lived, yet he was dead, <br>Caught in a season's oblivion.<br>His sombre thoughts were all but lost<br>On boys to which the war had won! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ballad-whistling, yet still no-one, <br>For he would not stay...<br>His spy-hole on the liturgy, <br>Kept like photos locked away! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now, he is going into rooms<br>Where his heart lies with the dead; <br>His romance found in Latin graves, and<br>All that need be known - was said! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not wanting to remain, no, <br>Our poet-scholar built a tomb -<br>A small wound bleeds his sex away, <br>To flow like wine in printing bloom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But how could a passing flower give<br>Life to old bones and dust, <br>When sorrow thought it fit to stay<br>And cauterize his lust?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Barry+Van+Asten">Barry Van Asten</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=580778" data-title="Troubled By Time de Barry Van Asten" data-description="To the memory of A. E. Housman. Born, in the year of Darwin's 'Origin', Where secret worlds of unrest grow; His inward lips were tenderly pressed Over the lines of Juvenal. His passion: silent - humanity's ache Under the touch, lies far away...."></div> </div> </div>

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