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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408358" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mountain Moss</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT LIES amongst the sleeping stones,<br>Far down the hidden mountain glade;<br>And past its brink the torrent moans<br>For ever in a dreamy shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A little patch of dark-green moss,<br>Whose softness grew of quiet ways<br>(With all its deep, delicious floss)<br>In slumb’rous suns of summer days.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You know the place? With pleasant tints<br>The broken sunset lights the bowers;<br>And then the woods are full with hints<br>Of distant, dear, voluptuous flowers!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis often now the pilgrim turns<br>A faded face towards that seat,<br>And cools his brow amongst the ferns;<br>The runnel dabbling at his feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There fierce December seldom goes,<br>With scorching step and dust and drouth;<br>But, soft and low, October blows<br>Sweet odours from her dewy mouth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Autumn, like a gipsy bold,<br>Doth gather near it grapes and grain,<br>Ere Winter comes, the woodman old,<br>To lop the leaves in wind and rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, greenest moss of mountain glen,<br>The face of Rose is known to thee;<br>But we shall never share with men<br>A knowledge dear to love and me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For are they not between us saved,<br>The words my darling used to say,<br>What time the western waters laved<br>The forehead of the fainting day?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cool comfort had we on your breast<br>While yet the fervid noon burned mute<br>O’er barley field and barren crest,<br>And leagues of gardens flushed with fruit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, sweet and low, we whispered so,<br>And sucked the pulp of plum and peach;<br>But it was many years ago,<br>When each, you know, was loved of each.</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=408358" data-title="Mountain Moss de Henry Kendall" data-description="IT LIES amongst the sleeping stones,
Far down the hidden mountain glade;
And past its brink the torrent moans
For ever in a dreamy shade.

A little patch of dark-green moss,
Whose softness grew of quiet ways
(With all its deep, delicious floss)
In..."></div>
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