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=421190" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>November</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Red o’er the forest peers the setting sun;<br>The line of yellow light dies fast away<br>That crown’d the eastern copse; and chill and dun<br>Falls on the moor the brief November day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,<br>And Echo bids good-night from every glade;<br>Yet wait awhile and see the calm leaves float<br>Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How like decaying life they seem to glide<br>And yet no second spring have they in store;<br>And where they fall, forgotten to abide<br>Is all their portion, and they ask no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soon o’er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,<br>A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold,<br>The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,<br>And all be vernal rapture as of old.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,<br>In all the world of busy life around<br>No thought of them—in all the bounteous sky<br>No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man’s portion is to die and rise again:<br>Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part<br>With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain<br>As his when Eden held his virgin heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keble">John Keble</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=421190" data-title="November de John Keble" data-description="Red o’er the forest peers the setting sun;
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crown’d the eastern copse; and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.

Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo bids good-night..."></div>
</div>
</div>