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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=449151" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sunday Morning</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down the road someone is practising scales, <br>The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, <br>Man's heart expands to tinker with his car <br>For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar; <br>Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, <br>Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast <br>That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, <br>That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time <br>A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire <br>Open its eight bells out, skulls' mouths which will not tire <br>To tell how there is no music or movement which secures <br>Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Louis+Macneice">Louis Macneice</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=449151" data-title="Sunday Morning de Louis Macneice" data-description="Down the road someone is practising scales, 
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, 
Man's heart expands to tinker with his car 
For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar; 
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this N..."></div>
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