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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381264" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sign-Post</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy,<br>And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry,<br>Rough, long grasses keep white with frost<br>At the hill-top by the finger-post;<br>The smoke of the traveller's-joy is puffed<br>Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.<br>I read the sign. Which way shall I go?<br>A voice says: &quot;You would not have doubted so<br>At twenty.&quot; Another voice gentle with scorn<br>Says: &quot;At twenty you wished you had never been born.&quot;<br>One hazel lost a leaf of gold<br>From a tuft at the tip, when the first voice told<br>The other he wished to know what 'twould be<br>To be sixty by this same post. &quot;You shall see,&quot;<br>He laughed -and I had to join his laughter - <br>&quot;You shall see; but either before or after,<br>Whatever happens, it must befall.<br>A mouthful of earth to remedy all<br>Regrets and wishes shall be freely given;<br>And if there be a flaw in that heaven<br>'Twill be freedom to wish, and your wish may be<br>To be here or anywhere talking to me,<br>No matter what the weather, on earth,<br>At any age between death and birth, - <br>To see what day or night can be,<br>The sun and the frost, tha land and the sea,<br>Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, - <br>With a poor man of any sort, down to a king,<br>Standing upright out in the air<br>Wondering where he shall journey, O where?&quot;</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>
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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=381264" data-title="The Sign-Post de Edward Thomas" data-description="The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy,
And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry,
Rough, long grasses keep white with frost
At the hill-top by the finger-post;
The smoke of the traveller's-joy is puffed
Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.
..."></div>
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