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=420642" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Telling the Bees</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here is the place; right over the hill <br>Runs the path I took; <br>You can see the gap in the old wall still, <br>And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is the house, with the gate red-barred, <br>And the poplars tall; <br>And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard, <br>And the white horns tossing above the wall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are the beehives ranged in the sun; <br>And down by the brink <br>Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, <br>Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, <br>Heavy and slow; <br>And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, <br>And the same brook sings of a year ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze; <br>And the June sun warm <br>Tangles his wings of fire in the trees, <br>Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I mind me how with a lover's care <br>From my Sunday coat <br>I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair, <br>And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since we parted, a month had passed, -- <br>To love, a year; <br>Down through the beeches I looked at last <br>On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can see it all now, -- the slantwise rain <br>Of light through the leaves, <br>The sundown's blaze on her window-pane, <br>The bloom of her roses under the eaves. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just the same as a month before, -- <br>The house and the trees, <br>The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, -- <br>Nothing changed but the hives of bees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before them, under the garden wall, <br>Forward and back, <br>Went drearily singing the chore-girl small, <br>Draping each hive with a shred of black. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trembling, I listened: the summer sun <br>Had the chill of snow; <br>For I knew she was telling the bees of one <br>Gone on the journey we all must go! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I said to myself, &quot;My Mary weeps <br>For the dead to-day: <br>Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps <br>The fret and the pain of his age away.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But her dog whined low; on the doorway sill, <br>With his cane to his chin, <br>The old man sat; and the chore-girl still <br>Sung to the bees stealing out and in. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the song she was singing ever since <br>In my ear sounds on: -- <br>&quot;Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence! <br>Mistress Mary is dead and gone!&quot;</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=420642" data-title="Telling the Bees de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Here is the place; right over the hill 
Runs the path I took; 
You can see the gap in the old wall still, 
And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. 

There is the house, with the gate red-barred, 
And the poplars tall; 
And the barn's brown l..."></div>
</div>
</div>