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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536678" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Three Pictures Continued</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536678" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The first, a woman, nobly limbed and fair,<br>Standeth at sunset by a famed far sea.<br>Red are her lips as Love's own kisses were,<br>Yet speak they never though they smile on me.<br>An old knight, next, and arméd cap--à--pie,<br>Watcheth the slaughtered clay that was his heir.<br>The winding--sheet is not more white than he,<br>Hath sat since dawn and hath not shed a tear.<br>The third a tortured bull about to die<br>In the arena. No proud infidel<br>E'er laid his dripping spears more scornfully<br>In Spanish dust; for he too, ere he fell,<br>Hath slain a man. Ah Christ! That murderous eye<br>Burneth athirst like the red pit of Hell.</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=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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