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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=480962" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To-day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=480962" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I rake no coffined clay, nor publish wide<br>The resurrection of departed pride.<br>Safe in their ancient crannies, dark and deep,<br>Let kings and conquerors, saints and soldiers sleep-<br>Late in the world,-too late perchance for fame,<br>Just late enough to reap abundant blame,-<br>I choose a novel theme, a bold abuse<br>Of critic charters, an unlaurelled Muse.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=480962" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Old mouldy men and books and names and lands<br>Disgust my reason and defile my hands.<br>I had as lief respect an ancient shoe,<br>As love old things for age, and hate the new.<br>I spurn the Past, my mind disdains its nod,<br>Nor kneels in homage to so mean a God.<br>I laugh at those who, while they gape and gaze,<br>The bald antiquity of China praise.<br>Youth is (whatever cynic tubs pretend)<br>The fault that boys and nations soonest mend.</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=Ralph+Waldo+Emerson">Ralph Waldo Emerson</a></strong></div>

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