<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409867" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Weariness. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Second)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O little feet! that such long years<br>Must wander on through hopes and fears,<br>Must ache and bleed beneath your load;<br>I, nearer to the wayside inn<br>Where toil shall cease and rest begin,<br>Am weary, thinking of your road! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O little hands! that, weak or strong,<br>Have still to serve or rule so long,<br>Have still so long to give or ask;<br>I, who so much with book and pen<br>Have toiled among my fellow-men,<br>Am weary, thinking of your task. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O little hearts! that throb and beat<br>With such impatient, feverish heat,<br>Such limitless and strong desires;<br>Mine that so long has glowed and burned,<br>With passions into ashes turned<br>Now covers and conceals its fires. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O little souls! as pure and white<br>And crystalline as rays of light<br>Direct from heaven, their source divine;<br>Refracted through the mist of years,<br>How red my setting sun appears,<br>How lurid looks this soul of mine!</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=409867" data-title="Weariness. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Second) de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road! O little hands! that, weak or..."></div> </div> </div>

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