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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Two Octaves</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not by the grief that stuns and overwhelms <br>All outward recognition of revealed <br>And righteous omnipresence are the days <br>Of most of us affrighted and diseased, <br>But rather by the common snarls of life <br>That come to test us and to strengthen us <br>In this the prentice-age of discontent, <br>Rebelliousness, faint-heartedness, and shame. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>II</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381446" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When through hot fog the fulgid sun looks down <br>Upon a stagnant earth where listless men <br>Laboriously dawdle, curse, and sweat, <br>Disqualified, unsatisfied, inert, -- <br>It seems to me somehow that God himself <br>Scans with a close reproach what I have done, <br>Counts with an unphrased patience my arrears, <br>And fathoms my unprofitable thoughts.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edwin+Arlington+Robinson">Edwin Arlington Robinson</a></strong></div>

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