Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Copy
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409286" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mount Of Olives (I)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1.<br>SWEET, sacred hill ! on whose fair brow <br>My Saviour sate, shall I allow <br>Language to love, <br>And idolize some shade, or grove, <br>Neglecting thee ? such ill-plac'd wit, <br>Conceit, or call it what you please, <br>Is the brain's fit, <br>And mere disease. <br>2.<br>Cotswold and Cooper's both have met <br>With learn褠swains, and echo yet <br>Their pipes and wit ; <br>But thou sleep'st in a deep neglect, <br>Untouch'd by any ; and what need <br>The sheep bleat thee a silly lay, <br>That heard'st both reed <br>And sheepward play ? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">3.<br>Yet if poets mind thee well, <br>They shall find thou art their hill, <br>And fountain too. <br>Their Lord with thee had most to do ; <br>He wept once, walk'd whole nights on thee : <br>And from thence?His suff'rings ended? <br>Unto glory <br>Was attended. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">4.<br>Being there, this spacious ball <br>Is but His narrow footstool all ; <br>And what we think <br>Unsearchable, now with one wink <br>He doth comprise ; but in this air <br>When He did stay to bear our ill <br>And sin, this hill <br>Was then His Chair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Vaughan">Henry Vaughan</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=409286" data-title="Mount Of Olives (I) de Henry Vaughan" data-description="1. SWEET, sacred hill ! on whose fair brow My Saviour sate, shall I allow Language to love, And idolize some shade, or grove, Neglecting thee ? such ill-plac'd wit, Conceit, or call it what you please, Is the brain's fit, And mere disease. ..."></div> </div> </div>
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black