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=455793" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Henry the Fifth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among<br>The cradle-wrappings slept; my morning-song<br>Sung o'er your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown<br>Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone.<br>Heights! For misfortune drear, our destined land,<br>So thunder-scarred, a-nigh to heaven must stand!<br>The north and south are nearer than our ways<br>Are near to one another; and Fate lays<br>The purple round you, and has not withheld<br>Our France's sceptre-dazzlements of eld.<br>I, crowned with silver hairs, say, praising you,<br>“Well done!” That man is to his manhood true<br>Who bravely, at his own behest, will do<br>High deeds of self -undoing; will forego<br>All, all, save immemorial Honour; though<br>She seem to earthlier eyes a phantom, more<br>Will follow her (as erst in Elsinore<br>One faithful heart obeyed the beckoning ghost),<br>Nor stoop to buy a kingdom at her cost.<br>That you are aught save honest, none may say;<br>The Lily must be white, all white, for aye.<br>A Bourbon can but reign as Capet's heir,<br>Or waive his kingship. History is aware<br>Of wrecks enough, of changing battles' din,<br>Of those who grandly lose, or basely win!<br>Better with honour, Prince, the throne to quit.<br>Than, where St. Louis sat, dishonoured sit!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Hannay+Foott">Mary Hannay Foott</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=455793" data-title="To Henry the Fifth de Mary Hannay Foott" data-description="My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among
The cradle-wrappings slept; my morning-song
Sung o'er your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown
Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone.
Heights! For misfortune drear, our destined land,
So thunde..."></div>
</div>
</div>