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=421000" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode On A Grecian Urn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, <br> Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,<br> Sylvan historian, who canst thus express<br> A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:<br> What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape<br> Of deities or mortals, or of both,<br> In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?<br> What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?<br> What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?<br> What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard<br> Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;<br> Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,<br> Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:<br> Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave<br> Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;<br> Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,<br> Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;<br> She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,<br> For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed<br> Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;<br> And, happy melodist, unwearied,<br> For ever piping songs for ever new;<br> More happy love! more happy, happy love!<br> For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,<br> For ever panting, and for ever young;<br> All breathing human passion far above,<br> That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,<br> A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Who are these coming to the sacrifice?<br> To what green altar, O mysterious priest,<br> Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,<br> And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?<br> What little town by river or sea shore,<br> Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,<br> Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?<br> And, little town, thy streets for evermore<br> Will silent be; and not a soul to tell<br> Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede<br> Of marble men and maidens overwrought,<br> With forest branches and the trodden weed;<br> Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought<br> As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!<br> When old age shall this generation waste,<br> Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe<br> Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,<br> &quot;Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all<br> Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keats">John Keats</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=421000" data-title="Ode On A Grecian Urn de John Keats" data-description="Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, 
 Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
 Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
 A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
 What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
 Of deities or mortals,..."></div>
</div>
</div>