Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117381" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Story-Telling</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come to the green-wood with me, gentle friend!<br>I know a hidden dell, where the chafed stream<br>Goes bounding playfully with child-like mirth,<br>Over its stony path, and flinging up<br>Its waves, with seeming petulance, in foam.<br>The bank slopes down unevenly, but wears,<br>Like Fairy, a gay mantelet of green,<br>All border'd daintily with bright-hued flowers;<br>The gray old trees bend over it, and up<br>Among their twisted boughs, an ancient vine<br>Hath strongly wreathed its stem. Below, it bends<br>In wayward convolutions o'er the stream,<br>Offering a couch where thou may'st safely sit,<br>While I recline beside thee on the turf;<br>Will not the vine-leaves shade us pleasantly,<br>While we discourse together? wilt thou sing?<br>Or shall we tell sad stories? One I read<br>But yesterday, that lingers with me still,<br>Haunting my memory with its thoughts of woe;<br>'T was of a dark-brown slave—one whose bright days<br>Of early infancy had pass'd beneath<br>The glowing sun of Africa. She was torn,<br>Ere her tenth summer, from the sight of all<br>That made her childhood happy, and the spring<br>Of all the buoyant hopes that make young hearts<br>So blissful in their dreams, was crush'd at once.<br>She was a sad-eyed girl—she never met<br>In revel scenes, with those who flung aside<br>Their sorrows for mad joyance; but a gleam<br>Of something like to bliss stole o'er her heart,<br>When one, who shared her infant sports, would speak<br>Of those remembered hours. She wedded him;<br>And years of spirit-wearing toil went by,<br>Even amidst her bonds, with almost happiness.<br>He could not brook his chains: a quenchless fire<br>Was in his spirit, and he burst all ties<br>That bound his heart—he left her, and was free;<br>She bore her sorrows patiently, and scarce<br>Let fall a tear-drop; but the gentle ones<br>That call'd her mother, were more closely bound<br>In her bereaved affections; and their love<br>Was all that warm'd the pulses of her heart.<br>Then came another and a darker blight:<br>They were torn from her, one by one, and sold,<br>Those nestlings of her heart; and she grew wild<br>With her exceeding anguish, and her cry<br>Went forth in accusation up to heaven.<br>She wander'd o'er each spot where they had been,<br>Calling their names, and mourning with a grief<br>That had no comforter; until at length<br>The springs of life were wasted; and she laid<br>At twilight hour, her head upon the turf<br>In dying feebleness. There came one by,<br>Who would have spoke her kindly then, and soothed<br>The parting spirit; but the time was past;<br>She raised her head a moment, and once more<br>Repeated the sad burden of her grief:<br>“Me have no children, massa, no one child!”<br>And her last cry was hush'd!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><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=117381" data-title="Story-Telling de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="Come to the green-wood with me, gentle friend!/I know a hidden dell, where the chafed stream/Goes bounding playfully with child-like mirth,/Over its stony path, and flinging up/Its waves, with seeming petulance, in foam./The bank slopes down uneve..."></div>
</div>
</div>