<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116043" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Spring Morning I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is every piping lad<br>That the fields are not yclad</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> With their milk-white sheep?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tell me: is it holiday,<br>Or if in the month of May</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Use they long to sleep?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Piers.<br>Thomalin, 'tis not too late,<br>For the turtle and her mate</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Sitten yet in nest:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the thrustle hath not been<br>Gath'ring worms yet on the green,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But attends her rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not a bird hath taught her young,<br>Nor her morning's lesson sung</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In the shady grove:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the nightingale in dark<br>Singing woke the mounting lark:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She records her love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not the sun hath with his beams<br>Gilded yet our crystal streams;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Rising from the sea,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mists do crown the mountains' tops,<br>And each pretty myrtle drops:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 'Tis but newly day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Browne">William Browne</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116043" data-title="Spring Morning I de William Browne" data-description="Thomalin./Where is every piping lad/That the fields are not yclad/ With their milk-white sheep?/Tell me: is it holiday,/Or if in the month of May/ Use they long to sleep?//Piers./Thomalin, 'tis not too late,/For the turtle and her mate/ Sitten yet..."></div> </div> </div>

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