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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342682" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Study In Gray</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I step from the door with a shiver<br>(This fog is uncommonly cold)<br>And ask myself: What did I give her?<br>The maiden a trifle gone-old,<br>With the head of gray hair that was gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, well, I suppose 'twas a dollar,<br>And doubtless the change is correct,<br>Though it's odd that it seems so much smaller<br>Than what I'd a right to expect.<br>But you pay when you dine, I reflect.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I walk up the street-'twas a saunter<br>A score of years back, when I strolled<br>From this door; and our talk was all banter<br>Those days when her hair was of gold,<br>And the sea-fog less searching and cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I button my coat (for I'm shaken,<br>And fevered a trifle, and flushed<br>With the wine that I ought to have taken,)<br>Time was, at this coat I'd have blushed,<br>Though truly, 'tis cleverly brushed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A score? Why, that isn't so very<br>Much time to have lost from a life.<br>There's reason enough to be merry:<br>I've not fallen down in the strife,<br>But marched with the drum and the fife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If Hope, when she lured me and beckoned,<br>Had pushed at my shoulders instead,<br>And Fame, on whose favors I reckoned,<br>Had laureled the worthiest head,<br>I could garland the years that are dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Believe me, I've held my own, mostly<br>Through all of this wild masquerade;<br>But somehow the fog is more ghostly<br>To-night, and the skies are more grayed,<br>Like the locks of the restaurant maid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If ever I'd fainted and faltered<br>I'd fancy this did but appear;<br>But the climate, I'm certain, has altered<br>Grown colder and more austere<br>Than it was in that earlier year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lights, too, are strangely unsteady,<br>That lead from the street to the quay.<br>I think they'll go out-and I'm ready<br>To follow. Out there in the sea<br>The fog-bell is calling to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</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=342682" data-title="A Study In Gray de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="I step from the door with a shiver
(This fog is uncommonly cold)
And ask myself: What did I give her?
The maiden a trifle gone-old,
With the head of gray hair that was gold.

Ah, well, I suppose 'twas a dollar,
And doubtless the change is correct,..."></div>
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