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=357721" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Old Town Types No. 22 - The Baker</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our baker, Mr Brackenby, toiler in the night,<br>Was a lean, tall, glum man whose face was very white;<br>A brooding man 'twas said of him, and mannerisms odd;<br>For a grunt of recognition and a rather surly nod<br>Were all he granted any who came strolling by his shop<br>In the cool of summer even, when a man might wish to stop<br>For a bit of neighbor's gossip. But our baker chose to mope<br>Like one who nursed grave illness or deep grief beyond all hope.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His chirping little 'missus' had the old town's sympathy;<br>For she loved to hold a customer and let her tongue run free<br>On stay bits of tittle-tattle; and we said, 'Poor thing,<br>With a dumb man for a husband, well, she has to have her fling.'<br>For silent Mr Brackenby, he never seemed to speak<br>To wife or child or anyone from week to dreary week.<br>There he sat upon his doorstop, and he stared and stared ahead<br>Like a being sore afflicted. But he baked good bread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet once a year, on Show Day, some urge removed his gag,<br>And gloomy Mr Brackenby went out upon a 'jag.'<br>He visited the taverns from the morn till deepest night<br>Getting gradually garrulous and gradually 'tight.'<br>He laughed, he sang, he spent, to talked to any who would hear:<br>A merry man for just one day and night in all the year.<br>He sang of 'Champagne Charlie' and 'Where Did You Get That Hat?'<br>'Belle Mahone,' 'Tarpaulin Jacket,' and a score of songs like that. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thro' the night he roared and revelled till the daylight broke the spell;<br>Then our baker, Mr Brackenby, crept back into his shell.<br>Stale the bread we got that morning; but, for twelve months after that,<br>In the loaves that came at dawning folk found nought to grumble at.<br>For he shunned the noisy taverns in the cool of summer eves,<br>And he squatted on his doorstep in the pose of one who grieves,<br>With his hand cupped in his white palm, he just stared and stared ahead<br>Like a man remorse had ravaged. But he baked good bread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</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=357721" data-title="Old Town Types No. 22 - The Baker de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="Our baker, Mr Brackenby, toiler in the night,
Was a lean, tall, glum man whose face was very white;
A brooding man 'twas said of him, and mannerisms odd;
For a grunt of recognition and a rather surly nod
Were all he granted any who came strolling ..."></div>
</div>
</div>