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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355389" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Moorland Night</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My face is against the grass - the moorland grass is wet - <br>My eyes are shut against the grass, against my lips there are the little blades, <br>Over my head the curlews call, And now there is the night wind in my hair; <br>My heart is against the grass and the sweet earth, - it has gone still, at last; <br>It does not want to beat any more, <br>And why should it beat? <br>This is the end of the journey. <br>The Thing is found. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the end of all the roads - <br>Over the grass there is the night-dew <br>And the wind that drives up from the sea along the moorland road, <br>I hear a curlew start out from the heath <br>And fly off calling through the dusk, <br>The wild, long, rippling call -: <br>The Thing is found and I am quiet with the earth; <br>Perhaps the earth will hold it or the wind, or that bird's cry, <br>But it is not for long in any life I know. This cannot stay, <br>Not now, not yet, not in a dying world, with me, for very long; <br>I leave it here: <br>And one day the wet grass may give it back - <br>One day the quiet earth may give it back - <br>The calling birds may give it back as they go by - <br>To someone walking on the moor who starves for love and will not know <br>Who gave it to all these to give away; <br>Or, if I come and ask for it again <br>Oh! then, to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charlotte+Mary+Mew">Charlotte Mary Mew</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=355389" data-title="Moorland Night de Charlotte Mary Mew" data-description="My face is against the grass - the moorland grass is wet - 
My eyes are shut against the grass, against my lips there are the little blades, 
Over my head the curlews call, And now there is the night wind in my hair; 
My heart is against the grass..."></div>
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