Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346175" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Hill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,<br>I had a vision once - though you understand<br>It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,<br>And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,<br>Picking my way through a warm sunlit piazza<br>In the early morning. A clear fretwork of shadows<br>From huge umbrellas littered the pavement and made<br>A sort of lucent shallows in which was moored<br>A small navy of carts. Books, coins, old maps,<br>Cheap landscapes and ugly religious prints<br>Were all on sale. The colors and noise<br>Like the flying hands were gestures of exultation,<br>So that even the bargaining<br>Rose to the ear like a voluble godliness.<br>And then, where it happened, the noises suddenly stopped,<br>And it got darker; pushcarts and people dissolved<br>And even the great Farnese Palace itself<br>Was gone, for all its marble; in its place<br>Was a hill, mole-colored and bare. It was very cold,<br>Close to freezing, with a promise of snow.<br>The trees were like old ironwork gathered for scrap<br>Outside a factory wall. There was no wind,<br>And the only sound for a while was the little click<br>Of ice as it broke in the mud under my feet.<br>I saw a piece of ribbon snagged on a hedge,<br>But no other sign of life. And then I heard<br>What seemed the crack of a rifle. A hunter, I guessed;<br>At least I was not alone. But just after that<br>Came the soft and papery crash<br>Of a great branch somewhere unseen falling to earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that was all, except for the cold and silence<br>That promised to last forever, like the hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then prices came through, and fingers, and I was restored<br>To the sunlight and my friends. But for more than a week<br>I was scared by the plain bitterness of what I had seen.<br>All this happened about ten years ago,<br>And it hasn't troubled me since, but at last, today,<br>I remembered that hill; it lies just to the left<br>Of the road north of Poughkeepsie; and as a boy<br>I stood before it for hours in wintertime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anthony+Evan+Hecht">Anthony Evan Hecht</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=346175" data-title="A Hill de Anthony Evan Hecht" data-description="In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision once - though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
Picking my way through a warm sunlit ..."></div>
</div>
</div>