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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373958" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Brown Study</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip, <br>Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair, <br>Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets, <br>All the pale dreamy things they find fair; <br>Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine, <br>The whir of brown wings through the wheat, <br>The rush of brown hares through the clover, <br>And the light in brown eyes of my sweet! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Gold hair? Well, I never could love it, <br>Yet gold, I suppose, has its worth; <br>The head that I love is as dusky <br>As the breast of our mother, the earth; <br>With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed, <br>Round pools that the tide has left clear, <br>And warm like the breast of a linnet, <br>And as brown, is the hair of my dear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>From the edge of the cliff we look downwards <br>On the shore, and the bay, and the town, <br>And brown is the short turf we lean on, <br>The fishing-boats' sails are all brown: <br>The sky may be blue--that's the background,-- <br>But the picture itself, to be fair, <br>However it's shaded and varied, <br>Should be brown as the dress that you wear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing-- <br>That tuft of brown grass is his home-- <br>And now, a brown speck, he is rising <br>Against the clear windy sky-dome; <br>And he sings--how I know? Love instructs me <br>To know all his notes, what they mean-- <br>That it isn't the colour I care for, <br>But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language; <br>It's my heart he sings out to the skies; <br>It is you that I love, and what matter <br>The colour of hair or of eyes? <br>No doubt I should love you as dearly <br>Were your hair like an apricot's down, <br>And your eyes like the grey of the morning; <br>But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</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=373958" data-title="A Brown Study de Edith Nesbit" data-description="LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip, 
Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair, 
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets, 
All the pale dreamy things they find fair; 
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine, 
The whir of brown wings th..."></div>
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