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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Letter from a Girl to Her Own Old Age</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses, <br>O time-worn woman, think of her who blesses <br>What thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O mother, for the weight of years that break thee! <br>O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee, <br>And from the changes of my heart must make thee! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O fainting traveller, morn is gray in heaven. <br>Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven? <br>And are they calm about the fall of even? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pause near the ending of thy long migration; <br>For this one sudden hour of desolation <br>Appeals to one hour of thy meditation. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suffer, O silent one, that I remind thee <br>Of the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee, <br>Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Know that the mournful plain where thou must wander <br>Is but a gray and silent world, but ponder <br>The misty mountains of the morning yonder. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Listen:-the mountain winds with rain were fretting, <br>And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting. <br>I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What part of this wild heart of mine I know not <br>Will follow with thee where the great winds blow not, <br>And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in it <br>Tell what the way was when thou didst begin it, <br>And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have not writ this letter of divining <br>To make a glory of thy silent pining, <br>A triumph of thy mute and strange declining. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded; <br>Only one morning, and the day was clouded; <br>And one old age with all regrets is crowded. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O hush, O hush! Thy tears my words are steeping. <br>O hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping? <br>Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her. <br>Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letter <br>That breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The one who now thy faded features guesses, <br>With filial fingers thy gray hair caresses, <br>With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alice+Meynell">Alice Meynell</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=342202" data-title="A Letter from a Girl to Her Own Old Age de Alice Meynell" data-description="Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses, 
O time-worn woman, think of her who blesses 
What thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses. 

O mother, for the weight of years that break thee! 
O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee, 
And f..."></div>
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