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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409645" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Finale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">These are the tales those merry guests<br>Told to each other, well or ill;<br>Like summer birds that lift their crests<br>Above the borders of their nests<br>And twitter, and again are still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These are the tales, or new or old,<br>In idle moments idly told;<br>Flowers of the field with petals thin,<br>Lilies that neither toil nor spin,<br>And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse<br>Hung in the parlor of the inn<br>Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still, reluctant to retire,<br>The friends sat talking by the fire<br>And watched the smouldering embers burn<br>To ashes, and flash up again<br>Into a momentary glow,<br>Lingering like them when forced to go,<br>And going when they would remain;<br>For on the morrow they must turn<br>Their faces homeward, and the pain<br>Of parting touched with its unrest<br>A tender nerve in every breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But sleep at last the victory won;<br>They must be stirring with the sun,<br>And drowsily good night they said,<br>And went still gossiping to bed,<br>And left the parlor wrapped in gloom,<br>The only live thing in the room<br>Was the old clock, that in its pace<br>Kept time with the revolving spheres<br>And constellations in their flight,<br>And struck with its uplifted mace<br>The dark, unconscious hours of night,<br>To senseless and unlistening ears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Uprose the sun; and every guest,<br>Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed<br>For journeying home and city-ward;<br>The old stage-coach was at the door,<br>With horses harnessed, long before<br>The sunshine reached the withered sward<br>Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar<br>Murmured: ?Farewell forevermore.?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">?Farewell!? the portly Landlord cried;<br>?Farewell!? the parting guests replied,<br>But little thought that nevermore<br>Their feet would pass that thershold o?er;<br>That nevermore together there<br>Would they assemble, free from care,<br>To hear the oaks? mysterious roar,<br>And breathe the wholesome country air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where are they now? What lands and skies<br>Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?<br>What hope deludes, what promise cheers,<br>What pleasant voices fill their ears?<br>Two are beyond the salt sea waves,<br>And three already in their graves.<br>Perchance the living still may look<br>Into the pages of this book,<br>And see the days of long ago<br>Floating and fleeting to and fro,<br>As in the well-remembered brook<br>They saw the inverted landscape gleam,<br>And their own faces like a dream<br>Look up upon them from below.</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=409645" data-title="Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Finale de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.

These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flo..."></div>
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