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=391087" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Winfreda</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(A BALLAD IN THE ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When to the dreary greenwood gloam<br> Winfreda's husband strode that day,<br>The fair Winfreda bode at home<br> To toil the weary time away;<br>&quot;While thou art gone to hunt,&quot; said she,<br>&quot;I'll brew a goodly sop for thee.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo, from a further, gloomy wood,<br> A hungry wolf all bristling hied<br>And on the cottage threshold stood<br> And saw the dame at work inside;<br>And, as he saw the pleasing sight,<br>He licked his fangs so sharp and white.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now when Winfreda saw the beast,<br> Straight at the grinning wolf she ran,<br>And, not affrighted in the least,<br> She hit him with her cooking pan,<br>And as she thwacked him on the head--<br>&quot;Scat! scat!&quot; the fair Winfreda said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hills gave answer to their din--<br> The brook in fear beheld the sight.<br>And all that bloody field within<br> Wore token of Winfreda's might.<br>The wolf was very loath to stay--<br>But, oh! he could not get away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Winfreda swept him o'er the wold<br> And choked him till his gums were blue,<br>And till, beneath her iron hold,<br> His tongue hung out a yard or two,<br>And with his hair the riven ground<br>Was strewn for many leagues around.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They fought a weary time that day,<br> And seas of purple blood were shed,<br>Till by Winfreda's cunning lay<br> That awful wolf all limp and dead;<br>Winfreda saw him reel and drop--<br>Then back she went to brewing sop.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So when the husband came at night<br> From bootless chase, cold, gaunt, and grim,<br>Great was that Saxon lord's delight<br> To find the sop dished up for him;<br>And as he ate, Winfreda told<br>How she had laid the wolf out cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The good Winfreda of those days<br> Is only &quot;pretty Birdie&quot; now--<br>Sickly her soul and weak her ways--<br> And she, to whom we Saxons bow,<br>Leaps on a bench and screams with fright<br>If but a mouse creeps into sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Eugene+Field">Eugene Field</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=391087" data-title="Winfreda de Eugene Field" data-description="(A BALLAD IN THE ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE)

When to the dreary greenwood gloam
 Winfreda's husband strode that day,
The fair Winfreda bode at home
 To toil the weary time away;
&quot;While thou art gone to hunt,&quot; said she,
&quot;I'll brew a goodly ..."></div>
</div>
</div>