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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421026" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Robin Hood</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">NO! those days are gone away,<br>And their hours are old and gray,<br>And their minutes buried all<br>Under the down-trodden pall<br>Ofthe leaves of many years:<br>Many times have winter's shears,<br>Frozen North, and chilling East,<br>Sounded tempests to the feast<br>Of the forest's whispering fleeces,<br>Since men knew nor rent nor leases.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> No, the bugle sounds no more,<br>And the twanging bow no more;<br>Silent is the ivory shrill<br>Past the heath and up the hill;<br>There is no mid-forest laugh,<br>Where lone Echo gives the half<br>To some wight, amaz'd to hear<br>Jesting, deep in forest drear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> On the fairest time of June<br>You may go, with sun or moon,<br>Or the seven stars to light you,<br>Or the polar ray to right you;<br>But you never may behold<br>Little John, or Robin bold;<br>Never one, of all the clan,<br>Thrumming on an empty can<br>Some old hunting ditty, while<br>He doth his green way beguile<br>To fair hostess Merriment,<br>Down beside the pasture Trent;<br>For he left the merry tale,<br>Messenger for spicy ale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Gone, the merry morris din;<br>Gone, the song of Gamelyn;<br>Gone, the tough-belted outlaw<br>Idling in the &quot;grene shawe&quot;;<br>All are gone away and past!<br>And if Robin should be cast<br>Sudden from his turfed grave,<br>And if Marian should have<br>Once again her forest days,<br>She would weep, and he would craze:<br>He would swear, for all his oaks,<br>Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,<br>Have rotted on the briny seas;<br>She would weep that her wild bees<br>Sang not to her---strange! that honey<br>Can't be got without hard money!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So it is; yet let us sing<br>Honour to the old bow-string!<br>Honour to the bugle-horn!<br>Honour to the woods unshorn!<br>Honour to the Lincoln green!<br>Honour to the archer keen!<br>Honour to tight little John,<br>And the horse he rode upon!<br>Honour to bold Robin Hood,<br>Sleeping in the underwood!<br>Honour to maid Marian,<br>And to all the Sherwood clan!<br>Though their days have hurried by<br>Let us two a burden try.</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>
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<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=421026" data-title="Robin Hood de John Keats" data-description="NO! those days are gone away,
And their hours are old and gray,
And their minutes buried all
Under the down-trodden pall
Ofthe leaves of many years:
Many times have winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of..."></div>
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