<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472342" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Sentiment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pledge of Friendship! it is still divine,<br>Though watery floods have quenched its burning wine;<br>Whatever vase the sacred drops may hold,<br>The gourd, the shell, the cup of beaten gold,<br>Around its brim the hand of Nature throws<br>A garland sweeter than the banquet’s rose. <br>Bright are the blushes of the vine-wreathed bowl,<br>Warm with the sunshine of Anacreon’s soul,<br>But dearer memories gild the tasteless wave<br>That fainting Sidney perished as he gave. <br>’T is the heart’s current lends the cup its glow,<br>Whate’er the fountain whence the draught may flow,—­<br>The diamond dew-drops sparkling through the sand,<br>Scooped by the Arab in his sunburnt hand,<br>Or the dark streamlet oozing from the snow,<br>Where creep and crouch the shuddering Esquimaux;<br>Ay, in the stream that, ere again we meet,<br>Shall burst the pavement, glistening at our feet,<br>And, stealing silent from its leafy hills,<br>Thread all our alleys with its thousand rills,—­<br>In each pale draught if generous feeling blend,<br>And o’er the goblet friend shall smile on friend,<br>Even cold Cochituate every heart shall warm,<br>And genial Nature still defy reform!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</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=472342" data-title="A Sentiment de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="The pledge of Friendship! it is still divine, Though watery floods have quenched its burning wine; Whatever vase the sacred drops may hold, The gourd, the shell, the cup of beaten gold, Around its brim the hand of Nature throws A garland sweeter t..."></div> </div> </div>

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