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=358597" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Our Secret Selves</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .<br>It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls<br>Down golden-windowed walls.<br>We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,<br>We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,<br>But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while<br>We shall lie down again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,<br>Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .<br>One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,<br>We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;<br>But whether he lives or dies we do not know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;<br>The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.<br>He sings of a house he lived in long ago.<br>It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;<br>The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.<br>And coiling slowly about him, and laughing at him,<br>And throwing him pennies, we bear away<br>A mournful echo of other times and places,<br>And follow a dream . . . a dream that will not stay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down long broad flights of lamplit stairs we flow;<br>Noisy, in scattered waves, crowding and shouting;<br>In broken slow cascades.<br>The gardens extend before us . . . We spread out swiftly;<br>Trees are above us, and darkness. The canyon fades . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,<br>Vaguely and incoherently, some dream<br>Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .<br>A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;<br>Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We flow to the east, to the white-lined shivering sea;<br>We reach to the west, where the whirling sun went down;<br>We close our eyes to music in bright cafees.<br>We diverge from clamorous streets to streets that are silent.<br>We loaf where the wind-spilled fountain plays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,<br>Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,<br>Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;<br>Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream<br>Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Conrad+Potter+Aiken">Conrad Potter Aiken</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=358597" data-title="Our Secret Selves de Conrad Potter Aiken" data-description="The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose..."></div>
</div>
</div>