Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Copy
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355987" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bride Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From 'The Prince's Progress' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">TOO late for love, too late for joy, <br> Too late, too late! <br>You loiter'd on the road too long, <br> You trifled at the gate: <br>The enchanted dove upon her branch <br> Died without a mate; <br>The enchanted princess in her tower <br> Slept, died, behind the grate; <br>Her heart was starving all this while <br> You made it wait. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ten years ago, five years ago, <br> One year ago, <br>Even then you had arrived in time, <br> Though somewhat slow; <br>Then you had known her living face <br> Which now you cannot know: <br>The frozen fountain would have leap'd, <br> The buds gone on to blow, <br>The warm south wind would have awaked <br> To melt the snow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is she fair now as she lies? <br> Once she was fair; <br>Meet queen for any kingly king, <br> With gold-dust on her hair. <br>Now there are poppies in her locks, <br> White poppies she must wear; <br>Must wear a veil to shroud her face <br> And the want graven there: <br>Or is the hunger fed at length, <br> Cast off the care? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We never saw her with a smile <br> Or with a frown; <br>Her bed seem'd never soft to her, <br> Though toss'd of down; <br>She little heeded what she wore, <br> Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; <br>We think her white brows often ached <br> Beneath her crown, <br>Till silvery hairs show'd in her locks <br> That used to be so brown. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We never heard her speak in haste: <br> Her tones were sweet, <br>And modulated just so much <br> As it was meet: <br>Her heart sat silent through the noise <br> And concourse of the street. <br>There was no hurry in her hands, <br> No hurry in her feet; <br>There was no bliss drew nigh to her, <br> That she might run to greet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You should have wept her yesterday, <br> Wasting upon her bed: <br>But wherefore should you weep to-day <br> That she is dead? <br>Lo, we who love weep not to-day, <br> But crown her royal head. <br>Let be these poppies that we strew, <br> Your roses are too red: <br>Let be these poppies, not for you <br> Cut down and spread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Christina+Georgina+Rossetti">Christina Georgina Rossetti</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=355987" data-title="Bride Song de Christina Georgina Rossetti" data-description="From 'The Prince's Progress' TOO late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loiter'd on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died ..."></div> </div> </div>
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black