Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Birchbrook Mill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A NOTELESS stream, the Birchbrook runs<br>Beneath its leaning trees;<br>That low, soft ripple is its own,<br>That dull roar is the sea's.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of human signs it sees alone<br>The distant church spire's tip,<br>And, ghost-like, on a blank of gray,<br>The white sail of a ship.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more a toiler at the wheel,<br>It wanders at its will;<br>Nor dam nor pond is left to tell<br>Where once was Birchbrook mill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The timbers of that mill have fed<br>Long since a farmer's fires;<br>His doorsteps are the stones that ground<br>The harvest of his sires.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man trespassed here; but Nature lost<br>No right of her domain;<br>She waited, and she brought the old<br>Wild beauty back again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By day the sunlight through the leaves<br>Falls on its moist, green sod,<br>And wakes the violet bloom of spring<br>And autumn's golden-rod.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its birches whisper to the wind,<br>The swallow dips her wings<br>In the cool spray, and on its banks<br>The gray song-sparrow sings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But from it, when the dark night falls,<br>The school-girl shrinks with dread;<br>The farmer, home-bound from his fields,<br>Goes by with quickened tread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They dare not pause to hear the grind<br>Of shadowy stone on stone;<br>The plashing of a water-wheel<br>Where wheel there now is none.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Has not a cry of pain been heard<br>Above the clattering mill?<br>The pawing of an unseen horse,<br>Who waits his mistress still?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet never to the listener's eye<br>Has sight confirmed the sound;<br>A wavering birch line marks alone<br>The vacant pasture ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No ghostly arms fling up to heaven<br>The agony of prayer;<br>No spectral steed impatient shakes<br>His white mane on the air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The meaning of that common dread<br>No tongue has fitly told;<br>The secret of the dark surmise<br>The brook and birches hold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What nameless horror of the past<br>Broods here forevermore?<br>What ghost his unforgiven sin<br>Is grinding o'er and o'er?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does, then, immortal memory play<br>The actor's tragic part,<br>Rehearsals of a mortal life<br>And unveiled human heart?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God's pity spare a guilty soul<br>That drama of its ill,<br>And let the scenic curtain fall<br>On Birchbrook's haunted mill</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</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=420459" data-title="Birchbrook Mill de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="A NOTELESS stream, the Birchbrook runs
Beneath its leaning trees;
That low, soft ripple is its own,
That dull roar is the sea's.

Of human signs it sees alone
The distant church spire's tip,
And, ghost-like, on a blank of gray,
The white sail of a..."></div>
</div>
</div>