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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Henry Howard Brownell</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They never crowned him, never dreamed his worth, <br>And let him go unlaurelled to the grave: <br>Hereafter there are guerdons for the brave, <br>Roses for martyrs who wear thorns on earth, <br>Balms for bruised hearts that languish in the dearth <br>Of human love. So let the grasses wave <br>Above him nameless. Little did he crave <br>Men's praises: modestly, with kindly mirth, <br>Not sad nor bitter, he accepted fate -- <br>Drank deep of life, knew books, and hearts of men, <br>Cities and camps, and war's immortal woe, <br>Yet bore through all (such virtue in him sate <br>His spirit is not whiter now than then) <br>A simple, loyal nature, pure as snow.</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=Thomas+Bailey+Aldrich">Thomas Bailey Aldrich</a></strong></div>

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