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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391509" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Hour Of Romance</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were thick leaves above me and around,<br>And low sweet sighs like those of childhood's sleep,<br>Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound<br>As of soft showers on water; dark and deep<br>Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf, so still<br>They seem'd but pictured glooms: a hidden rill<br>Made music, such as haunts us in a dream,<br>Under the fern-tufts; and a tender gleam</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed,<br>Came pouring thro' the woven beech-boughs down,<br>And steep'd the magic page wherein I read<br>Of royal chivalry and old renown,<br>A tale of Palestine. Meanwhile the bee<br>Swept past me with a tone of summer hours,<br>A drowsy bugle, wafting thoughts of flowers,<br>Blue skies, and amber sunshine: brightly free,<br>On filmy wings the purple dragon-fly<br>Shot glancing like a fairy javelin by;<br>And a sweet voice of sorrow told the dell<br>Where sat the lone wood-pigeon:<br>But ere long,<br>All sense of these things faded, as the spell<br>Breathing from that high gorgeous tale grew strong<br>On my chain'd soul: 'twas not the leaves I heard<br>A Syrian wind the Lion-banner stirr'd,<br>Thro' its proud, floating folds: 'twas not the brook,<br>Singing in secret thro' its grassy glen;<br>A wild shrill trumpet of the Saracen<br>Peal'd from the desert's lonely heart, and shook<br>The burning air. Like clouds when winds are high,<br>O'er glittering sands flew steeds of Araby,<br>And tents rose up, and sudden lance and spear<br>Flash'd where a fountain's diamond wave lay clear,<br>Shadow'd by graceful palm-trees. Then the shout<br>Of merry England's joy swell'd freely out,<br>Sent thro' an eastern heaven, whose glorious hue<br>Made shields dark mirrors to its depths of blue:<br>And harps were there; I heard their sounding strings,<br>As the waste echoed to the mirth of kings.<br>The bright masque faded. Unto life's worn track,<br>What call'd me from its flood of glory, back?<br>A voice of happy childhood! and they pass'd,<br>Banner, and harp, and Paynim's trumpet's blast;<br>Yet might I scarce bewail the splendours gone,<br>My heart so leap'd to that sweet laughter's tone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</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=391509" data-title="An Hour Of Romance de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="There were thick leaves above me and around,
And low sweet sighs like those of childhood's sleep,
Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound
As of soft showers on water; dark and deep
Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf, so still
They seem'd but pictu..."></div>
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