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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343082" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Songs Written to Welsh Airs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How fondly I gaze on the fast falling-leaves,<br>That mark, as I wander, the summer's decline;<br>And then I exclaim, while my conscious heart heaves,<br>&quot;Thus early to droop and to perish be mine!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet once I remember, in moments long past,<br>Most dear to my sight was the spring's opening bloom;<br>But then my youth's spring sorrow had not o'ercast,<br>Nor taught me with fondness to look on the tomb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Spring! now no longer these grief-faded eyes<br>Thy rich glowing beauties with pleasure can see;<br>Thy pale sickly hues, chilly Autumn, I prize,<br>They suit blighted hopes, and are emblems of me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Where dost thou bide, blessed soul of my love!<br>Is ether thy dwelling, O whisper me where!<br>Rapt in remembrance, while lonely I rove,<br>I gaze on bright clouds, and I fancy thee there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or to thy bower when musing I go,<br>I think, 't is thy voice that I hear in the breeze;<br>Softly it seems to speak peace to my woe,<br>And life once again for a moment can please.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If this be phrensy alone, 't is so dear,<br>That long may the pleasing delusion be nigh;<br>Still Ellen's voice in the breeze may I hear,<br>Still see in bright clouds the kind beams of her eye!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Low hung the dark clouds on Plinlimmon's tall peak,<br>And slowly, yet surely, the winter drew near;<br>When Ellen, sweet Ellen, a tear on her cheek,<br>Exclaimed as we parted, &quot;In May I'll be here.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How swiftly I ran up the mountain's steep height,<br>To catch the last glimpse of an object so dear!<br>And, when I no longer could keep her in sight,<br>I thought on her promise,....&quot;In May I'll be here.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now gladly I mark from Plinlimmon's tall peak<br>The low-hanging vapours and clouds disappear,<br>And climb the rough mountain, thence Ellen to seek,<br>Repeating her promise....&quot;In May I'll be here.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But vainly I gaze the wide prospect around,<br>'T is May, yet no Ellen returning is near:<br>Oh, when shall I see her! when feel my heart bound,<br>As sweetly she cries, &quot;It is May, and I'm here!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You ask why these mountains delight me no more,<br>And why lovely Clwyd's attractions are o'er;<br>Ah! have you not heard, then, the cause of my pain?<br>The pride of fair Clwyd, the boast of the plain,<br>We never, no never, shall gaze on again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What though from her coldness keen anguish I felt,<br>And vainly, to move her, in agony knelt;<br>Yet could I restore her, I'd never complain,<br>Not e'en though she doomed me to endless disdain....<br>I'd bear any torture to see her again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I grieved when on others with kindness she gazed,<br>I mourned when another with pleasure she praised;<br>But could I recall her to life by my pain,<br>I'd urge her to favour some happier swain,<br>And wish no reward but to see her again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those beauties that charmed me, from death I would free,<br>Though sure that those beauties another's should be!<br>But truth, and affection, and grief are all vain;<br>The pride of fair Clwyd, the boast of our plain,<br>We never, ah never! can gaze on again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amelia+Opie">Amelia Opie</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=343082" data-title="Songs Written to Welsh Airs de Amelia Opie" data-description="How fondly I gaze on the fast falling-leaves,
That mark, as I wander, the summer's decline;
And then I exclaim, while my conscious heart heaves,
&quot;Thus early to droop and to perish be mine!&quot;

Yet once I remember, in moments long past,
Mos..."></div>
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