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=381231" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Old Man</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing<br>To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man, <br>The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree, <br>Growing with rosemary and lavender.<br>Even to one that knows it well, the names<br>Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is: <br>At least, what that is clings not to the names<br>In spite of time. And yet I like the names.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The herb itself I like not, but for certain<br>I love it, as someday the child will love it<br>Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush<br>Whenever she goes in or out of the house.<br>Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling<br>The shreds at last on to the path, <br>Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs<br>Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still<br>But half as tall as she, 'though it is as old; <br>So well she clips it. Not a word she says; <br>And I ca only wonder how much hereafter<br>She will remember, with that bitter scent, <br>Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees<br>Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door<br>A low thick bush beside the door, and me<br>Forbidding her to pick.<br>As for myself, <br>Where first I met the bitter scent is lost.<br>I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds, <br>Sniff them and think and sniff again and try<br>Once more to think what it is I am remembering, <br>Always in vain. I cannot like the scent, <br>Yet I would rather give up others more sweet, <br>With no meaning, than this bitter one.<br>I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray<br>And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing; <br>Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait<br>For what I should, yet never can, remember; <br>No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush<br>Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside, <br>Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate; <br>Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+Thomas">Edward Thomas</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=381231" data-title="Old Man de Edward Thomas" data-description="Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing
To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man, 
The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree, 
Growing with rosemary and lavender.
Even to one that knows it well, the names
Half decorate, half perp..."></div>
</div>
</div>