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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409708" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fire of Drift-wood</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD.<br> We sat within the farm-house old, <br> Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, <br> Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold, <br> An easy entrance, night and day. <br> Not far away we saw the port, <br> The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, <br> The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, <br> The wooden houses, quaint and brown. <br> We sat and talked until the night, <br> Descending, filled the little room; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Our faces faded from the sight, <br> Our voices only broke the gloom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We spake of many a vanished scene, <br> Of what we once had thought and said, <br> Of what had been, and might have been, <br> And who was changed, and who was dead; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And all that fills the hearts of friends, <br> When first they feel, with secret pain, <br> Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, <br> And never can be one again; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The first slight swerving of the heart, <br> That words are powerless to express, <br> And leave it still unsaid in part, <br> Or say it in too great excess. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The very tones in which we spake <br> Had something strange, I could but mark; <br> The leaves of memory seemed to make <br> A mournful rustling in the dark. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Oft died the words upon our lips, <br> As suddenly, from out the fire <br> Built of the wreck of stranded ships, <br> The flames would leap and then expire. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And, as their splendor flashed and failed, <br> We thought of wrecks upon the main, <br> Of ships dismasted, that were hailed <br> And sent no answer back again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The windows, rattling in their frames, <br> The ocean, roaring up the beach, <br> The gusty blast, the bickering flames, <br> All mingled vaguely in our speech; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Until they made themselves a part <br> Of fancies floating through the brain, <br> The long-lost ventures of the heart, <br> That send no answers back again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned! <br> They were indeed too much akin, <br> The drift-wood fire without that burned, <br> The thoughts that burned and glowed within.</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=409708" data-title="The Fire of Drift-wood de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD.
 We sat within the farm-house old, 
 Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, 
 Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold, 
 An easy entrance, night and day. 
 Not far away we saw the port, 
 The strange, old-fashioned, sile..."></div>
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