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=392030" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode To The Setting Sun - Prelude</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wailful sweetness of the violin<br>Floats down the hush-ed waters of the wind,<br>The heart-strings of the throbbing harp begin<br>To long in aching music. Spirit-pined,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In wafts that poignant sweetness drifts, until<br>The wounded soul ooze sadness. The red sun,<br>A bubble of fire, drops slowly toward the hill,<br>While one bird prattles that the day is done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O setting Sun, that as in reverent days<br>Sinkest in music to thy smooth-ed sleep,<br>Discrowned of homage, though yet crowned with rays,<br>Hymned not at harvest more, though reapers reap:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thee this music wakes not. O deceived,<br>If thou hear in these thoughtless harmonies<br>A pious phantom of adorings reaved,<br>And echo of fair ancient flatteries!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, in this field where the Cross planted reigns,<br>I know not what strange passion bows my head<br>To thee, whose great command upon my veins<br>Proves thee a god for me not dead, not dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For worship it is too incredulous,<br>For doubt--oh, too believing-passionate!<br>What wild divinity makes my heart thus<br>A fount of most baptismal tears?--Thy straight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long beam lies steady on the Cross. Ah me!<br>What secret would thy radiant finger show?<br>Of thy bright mastership is this the key?<br>Is THIS thy secret, then? And is it woe?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fling from thine ear the burning curls, and hark<br>A song thou hast not heard in Northern day;<br>For Rome too daring, and for Greece too dark,<br>Sweet with wild wings that pass, that pass away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Thompson">Francis Thompson</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=392030" data-title="Ode To The Setting Sun - Prelude de Francis Thompson" data-description="The wailful sweetness of the violin
Floats down the hush-ed waters of the wind,
The heart-strings of the throbbing harp begin
To long in aching music. Spirit-pined,

In wafts that poignant sweetness drifts, until
The wounded soul ooze sadness. The..."></div>
</div>
</div>