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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409083" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On Pressing Some Flowers</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, they are dead! Love! when they passed<br>From thee to me, our fingers met;<br>O withered darlings of the May!<br>I feel those fairy fingers yet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And for the bliss ye brought me then,<br>Your faded forms are precious things;<br>No flowers so fair, no buds so sweet<br>Shall bloom through all my future springs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so, pale ones! with hands as soft<br>As if I closed a baby's eyes,<br>I'll lay you in some favorite book<br>Made sacred by a poet's sighs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your lips shall press the sweetest song,<br>The sweetest, saddest song I know,<br>As ye had perished, in your pride,<br>Of some lone bard's melodious woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, Love! hath love no holier shrine!<br>Oh, heart! could love but lend the power,<br>I'd lay thy crimson pages bare,<br>And every leaf should fold its flower.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</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=409083" data-title="On Pressing Some Flowers de Henry Timrod" data-description="So, they are dead! Love! when they passed
From thee to me, our fingers met;
O withered darlings of the May!
I feel those fairy fingers yet.

And for the bliss ye brought me then,
Your faded forms are precious things;
No flowers so fair, no buds so..."></div>
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