<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343732" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Penumbra</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I sit here in the quiet Summer night, <br>Suddenly, from the distant road, there comes <br>The grind and rush of an electric car. <br>And, from still farther off, <br>An engine puffs sharply, <br>Followed by the drawn-out shunting scrape of a freight train. <br>These are the sounds that men make <br>In the long business of living. <br>They will always make such sounds, <br>Years after I am dead and cannot hear them. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Sitting here in the Summer night, <br>I think of my death. <br>What will it be like for you then? <br>You will see my chair <br>With its bright chintz covering <br>Standing in the afternoon sunshine, <br>As now. <br>You will see my narrow table <br>At which I have written so many hours. <br>My dogs will push their noses into your hand, <br>And ask—ask— <br>Clinging to you with puzzled eyes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The old house will still be here, <br>The old house which has known me since the beginning. <br>The walls which have watched me while I played: <br>Soldiers, marbles, paper-dolls, <br>Which have protected me and my books. <br>The front-door will gaze down among the old trees <br>Where, as a child, I hunted ghosts and Indians; <br>It will look out on the wide gravel sweep <br>Where I rolled my hoop, <br>And at the rhododendron bushes <br>Where I caught black-spotted butterflies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The old house will guard you, <br>As I have done. <br>Its walls and rooms will hold you, <br>And I shall whisper my thoughts and fancies <br>As always, <br>From the pages of my books. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>You will sit here, some quiet Summer night, <br>Listening to the puffing trains, <br>But you will not be lonely, <br>For these things are a part of me. <br>And my love will go on speaking to you <br>Through the chairs, and the tables, and the pictures, <br>As it does now through my voice, <br>And the quick, necessary touch of my hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Lowell">Amy Lowell</a><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=343732" data-title="Penumbra de Amy Lowell" data-description="As I sit here in the quiet Summer night, Suddenly, from the distant road, there comes The grind and rush of an electric car. And, from still farther off, An engine puffs sharply, Followed by the drawn-out shunting scrape of a freight train. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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