<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381246" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Child on the Cliffs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mother, the root of this little yellow flower<br>Among the stones has the taste of quinine.<br>Things are strange to-day on the cliff. The sun shines so bright,<br>And the grasshopper works at his sewing machine<br>So hard. Here's one on my hand, mother, look;<br>I lie so still. There's one on your book.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I have something to tell more strange. So leave<br>Your book to the grasshopper, mother dear, -<br>Like a green knight in a dazzling market-place -<br>And listen now. Can you hear what I hear<br>Far out? Now and then the foam there curls<br>And stretches a white arm out like a girl's.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fishes and gulls ring no bells. There cannot be<br>A chapel or church between here and Devon,<br>With fishes or gulls ringing its bell, - hark! -<br>Somewhere under the sea or up in heaven.<br>'It's the bell, my son, out in the bay<br>On the buoy. It does sound sweet to-day.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweeter I never heard, mother, no, not in all Wales.<br>I should like to be lying under that foam,<br>Dead, but able to hear the sound of the bell,<br>And certain that you would often come<br>And rest, listening happily.<br>I should be happy if that could be.</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=381246" data-title="The Child on the Cliffs de Edward Thomas" data-description="Mother, the root of this little yellow flower Among the stones has the taste of quinine. Things are strange to-day on the cliff. The sun shines so bright, And the grasshopper works at his sewing machine So hard. Here's one on my hand, mother, look..."></div> </div> </div>

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