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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409295" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Bird</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night<br>Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing<br>Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm<br>(For which coarse man seems much the fitter born)<br>Rained on thy bed<br>And harmless head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light,<br>Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing<br>Unto that Providence, whose unseen arm<br>Curbed them, and clothed thee well and warm.<br>All things that be, praise Him, and had<br>Their lesson taught them when first made.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So hills and valleys into singing break;<br>And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue,<br>While active winds and streams both run and speak,<br>Yet stones are deep in admiration.<br>Thus praise and prayer here beneath the sun<br>Make lesser mornings, when the great are done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For each inclosed spirit is a star<br>Enlight'ning his own little sphere,<br>Whose light, though fetched and borrowed from far,<br>Both mornings makes and evenings there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But as these birds of light make a land glad,<br>Chirping their solemn matins on each tree,<br>So in the shades of night some dark fowls be,<br>Whose heavy notes make all that hear them sad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The turtle then in palm trees mourns,<br>While owls and satyrs howl:<br>The pleasant land to brimstone turns,<br>And all her streams grow foul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, all fly,<br>Till the day-spring breaks forth again from high.</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>
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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=409295" data-title="The Bird de Henry Vaughan" data-description="Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing
Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm
(For which coarse man seems much the fitter born)
Rained on thy bed
And harmless head.

And now, as fresh and cheerfu..."></div>
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