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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409731" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Herons Of Elmwood. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Warm and still is the summer night,<br>As here by the river's brink I wander;<br>White overhead are the stars, and white<br>The glimmering lamps on the hillside yonder. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Silent are all the sounds of day;<br>Nothing I hear but the chirp of crickets,<br>And the cry of the herons winging their way<br>O'er the poet's house in the Elmwood thickets. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Call to him, herons, as slowly you pass<br>To your roosts in the haunts of the exiled thrushes,<br>Sing him the song of the green morass;<br>And the tides that water the reeds and rushes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sing him the mystical Song of the Hern,<br>And the secret that baffles our utmost seeking;<br>For only a sound of lament we discern,<br>And cannot interpret the words you are speaking. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sing of the air, and the wild delight<br>Of wings that uplift and winds that uphold you,<br>The joy of freedom, the rapture of flight<br>Through the drift of the floating mists that infold you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of the landscape lying so far below,<br>With its towns and rivers and desert places;<br>And the splendor of light above, and the glow<br>Of the limitless, blue, ethereal spaces. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ask him if songs of the Troubadours,<br>Or of Minnesingers in old black-letter,<br>Sound in his ears more sweet than yours,<br>And if yours are not sweeter and wilder and better. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sing to him, say to him, here at his gate,<br>Where the boughs of the stately elms are meeting,<br>Some one hath lingered to meditate,<br>And send him unseen this friendly greeting; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That many another hath done the same,<br>Though not by a sound was the silence broken;<br>The surest pledge of a deathless name<br>Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.</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=409731" data-title="The Herons Of Elmwood. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth) de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="Warm and still is the summer night,
As here by the river's brink I wander;
White overhead are the stars, and white
The glimmering lamps on the hillside yonder. 

Silent are all the sounds of day;
Nothing I hear but the chirp of crickets,
And the c..."></div>
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