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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116726" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Mary</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE twentieth year is well-nigh past,<br>Since first our sky was overcast;<br>Ah would that this might be the last!<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy spirits have a fainter flow,<br>I see thee daily weaker grow —<br>'Twas my distress that brought thee low,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy needles, once a shining store,<br>For my sake restless heretofore,<br>Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil<br>The same kind office for me still,<br>Thy sight now seconds not thy will,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,<br>And all thy threads with magic art<br>Have wound themselves about this heart,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy indistinct expressions seem<br>Like language utter'd in a dream;<br>Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,<br>Are still more lovely in my sight<br>Than golden beams of orient light,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For could I view nor them nor thee,<br>What sight worth seeing could I see?<br>The sun would rise in vain for me,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Partakers of thy sad decline,<br>Thy hands their little force resign;<br>Yet, gently prest, press gently mine,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then I feel that still I hold<br>A richer store ten thousandfold<br>Than misers fancy in their gold,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,<br>That now at every step thou mov'st<br>Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still to love, though prest with ill,<br>In wintry age to feel no chill,<br>With me is to be lovely still,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ah! by constant heed I know,<br>How oft the sadness that I show<br>Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And should my future lot be cast<br>With much resemblance of the past,<br>Thy worn-out heart will break at last.<br>    My Mary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cowper">William Cowper</a><div class=q>
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<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=116726" data-title="To Mary de William Cowper" data-description="THE twentieth year is well-nigh past,/Since first our sky was overcast;/Ah would that this might be the last!/    My Mary!/Thy spirits have a fainter flow,/I see thee daily weaker grow —/'Twas my distress that brought thee low,/    My Mary!/Thy ..."></div>
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