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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408178" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Summer Rain</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read, <br>'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large <br>Down in the meadow, where is richer feed, <br>And will not mind to hit their proper targe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too, <br>Our Shakespeare's life were rich to live again, <br>What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true, <br>Nor Shakespeare's books, unless his books were men. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough, <br>What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town, <br>If juster battles are enacted now <br>Between the ants upon this hummock's crown? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn, <br>If red or black the gods will favor most, <br>Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn, <br>Struggling to heave some rock against the host. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour, <br>For now I've business with this drop of dew, <br>And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower-- <br>I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This bed of herd's grass and wild oats was spread <br>Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use. <br>A clover tuft is pillow for my head, <br>And violets quite overtop my shoes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now the cordial clouds have shut all in, <br>And gently swells the wind to say all's well; <br>The scattered drops are falling fast and thin, <br>Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am well drenched upon my bed of oats; <br>But see that globe come rolling down its stem, <br>Now like a lonely planet there it floats, <br>And now it sinks into my garment's hem. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drip drip the trees for all the country round, <br>And richness rare distills from every bough; <br>The wind alone it is makes every sound, <br>Shaking down crystals on the leaves below. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For shame the sun will never show himself, <br>Who could not with his beams e'er melt me so; <br>My dripping locks--they would become an elf, <br>Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+David+Thoreau">Henry David Thoreau</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=408178" data-title="The Summer Rain de Henry David Thoreau" data-description="My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read, 
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large 
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed, 
And will not mind to hit their proper targe. 

Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too, 
Our Shakespeare's life..."></div>
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