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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408249" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>~Araluen~</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">River, myrtle rimmed, and set <br> Deep amongst unfooted dells— <br>Daughter of grey hills of wet, <br> Born by mossed and yellow wells; <br>Now that soft September lays <br> Tender hands on thee and thine, <br>Let me think of blue-eyed days, <br> Star-like flowers and leaves of shine! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cities soil the life with rust; <br> Water banks are cool and sweet; <br>River, tired of noise and dust, <br> Here I come to rest my feet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the month from shade to sun <br> Fleets and sings supremest songs, <br>Now the wilful wood-winds run <br> Through the tangled cedar throngs. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here are cushioned tufts and turns <br> Where the sumptuous noontide lies: <br>Here are seen by flags and ferns <br> Summer’s large, luxurious eyes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On this spot wan Winter casts <br> Eyes of ruth, and spares its green <br>From his bitter sea-nursed blasts, <br> Spears of rain and hailstones keen. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rather here abideth Spring, <br> Lady of a lovely land, <br>Dear to leaf and fluttering wing, <br> Deep in blooms—by breezes fanned. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Faithful friend beyond the main, <br> Friend that time nor change makes cold; <br>Now, like ghosts, return again <br> Pallid, perished days of old. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, the days!—the old, old theme, <br> Never stale, but never new, <br>Floating like a pleasant dream, <br> Back to me and back to you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since we rested on these slopes <br> Seasons fierce have beaten down <br>Ardent loves and blossoming hopes— <br> Loves that lift and hopes that crown. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, believe me, still mine eyes <br> Often fill with light that springs <br>From divinity, which lies <br> Ever at the heart of things. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Solace do I sometimes find <br> Where you used to hear with me <br>Songs of stream and forest wind, <br> Tones of wave and harp-like tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Araluen—home of dreams, <br> Fairer for its flowerful glade <br>Than the face of Persian streams <br> Or the slopes of Syrian shade; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why should I still love it so, <br> Friend and brother far away? <br>Ask the winds that come and go, <br> What hath brought me here to-day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Evermore of you I think, <br> When the leaves begin to fall, <br>Where our river breaks its brink, <br> And a rest is over all. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Evermore in quiet lands, <br> Friend of mine beyond the sea, <br>Memory comes with cunning hands, <br> Stays, and paints your face for me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</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=408249" data-title="~Araluen~ de Henry Kendall" data-description="River, myrtle rimmed, and set 
 Deep amongst unfooted dells— 
Daughter of grey hills of wet, 
 Born by mossed and yellow wells; 
Now that soft September lays 
 Tender hands on thee and thine, 
Let me think of blue-eyed days, 
 Star-like flowers ..."></div>
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