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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409456" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Flower-De-Luce: The Wind Over The Chimney</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">See, the fire is sinking low, <br>Dusky red the embers glow, <br>While above them still I cower, <br>While a moment more I linger, <br>Though the clock, with lifted finger, <br>Points beyond the midnight hour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sings the blackened log a tune <br>Learned in some forgotten June <br>From a school-boy at his play, <br>When they both were young together, <br>Heart of youth and summer weather <br>Making all their holiday. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the night-wind rising, hark! <br>How above there in the dark, <br>In the midnight and the snow, <br>Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, <br>Like the trumpets of Iskander, <br>All the noisy chimneys blow! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Every quivering tongue of flame <br>Seems to murmur some great name, <br>Seems to say to me, 'Aspire!' <br>But the night-wind answers, 'Hollow <br>Are the visions that you follow, <br>Into darkness sinks your fire!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the flicker of the blaze <br>Gleams on volumes of old days, <br>Written by masters of the art, <br>Loud through whose majestic pages <br>Rolls the melody of ages, <br>Throb the harp-strings of the heart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And again the tongues of flame <br>Start exulting and exclaim: <br>'These are prophets, bards, and seers; <br>In the horoscope of nations, <br>Like ascendant constellations, <br>They control the coming years.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the night-wind cries: 'Despair! <br>Those who walk with feet of air <br>Leave no long-enduring marks; <br>At God's forges incandescent <br>Mighty hammers beat incessant, <br>These are but the flying sparks. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Dust are all the hands that wrought; <br>Books are sepulchres of thought; <br>The dead laurels of the dead <br>Rustle for a moment only, <br>Like the withered leaves in lonely <br>Churchyards at some passing tread.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suddenly the flame sinks down; <br>Sink the rumors of renown; <br>And alone the night-wind drear <br>Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer,-- <br>''Tis the brand of Meleager <br>Dying on the hearth-stone here!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I answer,--'Though it be, <br>Why should that discomfort me? <br>No endeavor is in vain; <br>Its reward is in the doing, <br>And the rapture of pursuing <br>Is the prize the vanquished gain.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</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=409456" data-title="Flower-De-Luce: The Wind Over The Chimney de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="See, the fire is sinking low, 
Dusky red the embers glow, 
While above them still I cower, 
While a moment more I linger, 
Though the clock, with lifted finger, 
Points beyond the midnight hour. 

Sings the blackened log a tune 
Learned in some fo..."></div>
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