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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=523135" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Czar Nicholas</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=523135" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We could not turn from that colossal foe,<br>The morning shadow of whose hideous head<br>Darkened the furthest West, and who did throw<br>His evening shade on Ind. The polar bow<br>Behind him flamed and paled, and through the red<br>Uncertain dark his vasty shape did grow<br>Upon the sleepless nations. Lay him low!<br>Aye, low as for our priceless English dead<br>We lie and groan to-day in England! Oh,<br>My God! I think Thou hast not finished<br>This Thy fair world, where, triumph Ill or Good,<br>We still must weep; where or to lose or gain<br>Is woe; where Pain is medicined by Pain,<br>And Blood can only be washed out by Blood.</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=Sydney+Thompson+Dobell">Sydney Thompson Dobell</a></strong></div>

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