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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339812" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Season</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And must I wear a silken life,<br>Hemmed in by city walls?<br>And must I give my garden up<br>For theatres and balls?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, though the cage be made of gold,<br>'Tis better to be free;<br>The green of the green meadows, love,<br>Is quite enough for me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd rather ramble through the lanes<br>Than drive about in town;<br>I'd rather muse or dream than dance,<br>When the stars are shining down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I do not care for diamonds, dear,<br>But I care a deal for flowers;<br>And thousands are just creeping out<br>For the sunshine and the showers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I like to hear the Household band,<br>But I love the bird-songs best;<br>And hark! how they are twittering now<br>Round each half-hidden nest!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind is whispering in the leaves,<br>And the downy bees begin<br>To hum in the blossoming sycamores,<br>And the brook is chiming in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is such melody in the woods,<br>Such music in the air!<br>The streets are full of life and sound,<br>And yet 'tis silent there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I like to see the pictures—ay,<br>But I am hard to please!<br>I never saw a picture yet<br>As great and grand as these;<br>Such tones of colour as transform<br>The tender green and brown,<br>When the pink dawn is flushing up,<br>Or the red sun sinking down;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such painting as the chestnut bud<br>Shows in its opening heart;<br>Such lights as shine 'twixt earth and sky<br>When rain-clouds break apart;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such soft, warm, subtle tints, as lie<br>In every mossy patch—<br>On the blue-brown trunks, now filled with life,<br>And the humble roof of thatch,—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the purple hollows of the hills,<br>In the lichen on the wall,<br>In the orchard and the feathery woods,<br>And the sun-lit waterfall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I like my humble country ways,<br>My simple, early meals;<br>I like to potter about the yard,<br>With my chickens at my heels.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd rather climb this brambly steep,<br>Where freshest sea-winds blow,<br>With my old straw hat hanging down my back.<br>Than canter along the Row.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To me (it's vulgar, dear, I know)<br>No fête half so gay<br>As a cricket-match on the village green,<br>Or a picnic in the hay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, yes! I'm happier as I am,—<br>I'm ignorant, you see;<br>And the life of fashion that you love<br>Would never do for me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ada+Cambridge">Ada Cambridge</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=339812" data-title="The Season de Ada Cambridge" data-description="And must I wear a silken life,
Hemmed in by city walls?
And must I give my garden up
For theatres and balls?

Nay, though the cage be made of gold,
'Tis better to be free;
The green of the green meadows, love,
Is quite enough for me.

I'd rather r..."></div>
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