<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Muses' Son</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THROUGH field and wood to stray,<br>And pipe my tuneful lay,--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis thus my days are pass'd;<br>And all keep tune with me,<br>And move in harmony,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so on, to the last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To wait I scarce have power<br>The garden's earliest flower,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tree's first bloom in Spring;<br>They hail my joyous strain,--<br>When Winter comes again,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of that sweet dream I sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My song sounds far and near,<br>O'er ice it echoes clear,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Winter blossoms bright;<br>And when his blossoms fly,<br>Fresh raptures meet mine eye,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon the well-till'd height.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When 'neath the linden tree,<br>Young folks I chance to see,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I set them moving soon;<br>His nose the dull lad curls,<br>The formal maiden whirls,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Obedient to my tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wings to the feet ye lend,<br>O'er hill and vale ye send</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lover far from home;<br>When shall I, on your breast,.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye kindly muses, rest,<br>And cease at length to roam?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Johann+Wolfgang+von+Goethe">Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</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=418806" data-title="The Muses' Son de Johann Wolfgang von Goethe" data-description="THROUGH field and wood to stray, And pipe my tuneful lay,-- 'Tis thus my days are pass'd; And all keep tune with me, And move in harmony, And so on, to the last. To wait I scarce have power The garden's earliest flower, The tree's first bloom ..."></div> </div> </div>

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