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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=393394" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fugitive</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,<br> From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,<br>While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,<br> And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With joyful, melodious, ravishing, strain,<br> The lark, as he wakens, salutes the glad sun,<br>Who glows in the arms of Aurora again,<br> And blissfully smiling, his race 'gins to run.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All hail, light of day!<br>Thy sweet gushing ray<br>Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field;<br>With hues silver-tinged<br>The meadows are fringed,<br>And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Young Nature invades<br>The whispering shades,<br> Displaying each ravishing charm;<br>The soft zephyr blows,<br>And kisses the rose,<br> The plain is sweet-scented with balm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!<br>Their neighing, and snorting, and bellowing blend<br>The horses and cattle;<br>The chariot-wheels rattle,<br>As down to the valley they take their mad way;<br> And even the forest where life seems to move,<br> The eagle, and falcon, and hawk soar above,<br>And flutter their pinions, in heaven's bright ray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In search of repose<br>From my heart-rending woes,<br> Oh, where shall my sad spirit flee?<br>The earth's smiling face,<br>With its sweet youthful grace,<br> A tomb must, alas, be for me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Arise, then, thou sunlight of morning, and fling<br> O'er plain and o'er forest thy purple-dyed beams!<br>Thou twilight of evening, all noiselessly sing<br> In melody soft to the world as it dreams!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, sunlight of morning, to me thou but flingest<br> Thy purple-dyed beams o'er the grave of the past!<br>Ah, twilight of evening, thy strains thou but singest<br> To one whose deep slumbers forever must last!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Friedrich+Schiller">Friedrich Schiller</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=393394" data-title="The Fugitive de Friedrich Schiller" data-description="The air is perfumed with the morning's fresh breeze,
 From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright,
While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees,
 And the cloud-crested mountains are golden with light.

With joyful, melodi..."></div>
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