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=472411" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Even-Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT may be, yes, it must be, Time that brings<br>An end to mortal things,<br>That sends the beggar Winter in the train<br>Of Autumn's burdened wain,--<br>Time, that is heir of all our earthly state,<br>And knoweth well to wait<br>Till sea hath turned to shore and shore to sea,<br>If so it need must be,<br>Ere he make good his claim and call his own<br>Old empires overthrown,--<br>Time, who can find no heavenly orb too large<br>To hold its fee in charge,<br>Nor any motes that fill its beam so small,<br>But he shall care for all,--<br>It may be, must be,--yes, he soon shall tire<br>This hand that holds the lyre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then ye who listened in that earlier day<br>When to my careless lay<br>I matched its chords and stole their first-born thrill,<br>With untaught rudest skill<br>Vexing a treble from the slender strings<br>Thin as the locust sings<br>When the shrill-crying child of summer's heat<br>Pipes from its leafy seat,<br>The dim pavilion of embowering green<br>Beneath whose shadowy screen<br>The small sopranist tries his single note<br>Against the song-bird's throat,<br>And all the echoes listen, but in vain;<br>They hear no answering strain,--<br>Then ye who listened in that earlier day<br>Shall sadly turn away,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Saying, 'The fire burns low, the hearth is cold<br>That warmed our blood of old;<br>Cover its embers and its half-burnt brands,<br>And let us stretch our hands<br>Over a brighter and fresh-kindled flame;<br>Lo, this is not the same,<br>The joyous singer of our morning time,<br>Flushed high with lusty rhyme!<br>Speak kindly, for he bears a human heart,<br>But whisper him apart,--<br>Tell him the woods their autumn robes have shed<br>And all their birds have fled,<br>And shouting winds unbuild the naked nests<br>They warmed with patient breasts;<br>Tell him the sky is dark, the summer o'er,<br>And bid him sing no more!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, welladay! if words so cruel-kind<br>A listening ear might find!<br>But who that hears the music in his soul<br>Of rhythmic waves that roll<br>Crested with gleams of fire, and as they flow<br>Stir all the deeps below<br>Till the great pearls no calm might ever reach<br>Leap glistening on the beach,--<br>Who that has known the passion and the pain,<br>The rush through heart and brain,<br>The joy so like a pang his hand is pressed<br>Hard on his throbbing breast,<br>When thou, whose smile is life and bliss and fame<br>Hast set his pulse aflame,<br>Muse of the lyre! can say farewell to thee?<br>Alas! and must it be?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In many a clime, in many a stately tongue,<br>The mighty bards have sung;<br>To these the immemorial thrones belong<br>And purple robes of song;<br>Yet the slight minstrel loves the slender tone<br>His lips may call his own,<br>And finds the measure of the verse more sweet,<br>Timed by his pulse's beat,<br>Than all the hymnings of the laurelled throng.<br>Say not I do him wrong,<br>For Nature spoils her warblers,--them she feeds<br>In lotus-growing meads<br>And pours them subtle draughts from haunted streams<br>That fill their souls with dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full well I know the gracious mother's wiles<br>And dear delusive smiles!<br>No callow fledgling of her singing brood<br>But tastes that witching food,<br>And hearing overhead the eagle's wing,<br>And how the thrushes sing,<br>Vents his exiguous chirp, and from his nest<br>Flaps forth--we know the rest.<br>I own the weakness of the tuneful kind,--<br>Are not all harpers blind?<br>I sang too early, must I sing too late?<br>The lengthening shadows wait<br>The first pale stars of twilight,--yet how sweet<br>The flattering whisper's cheat,--<br>'Thou hast the fire no evening chill can tame,<br>Whose coals outlast its flame!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell, ye carols of the laughing morn,<br>Of earliest sunshine born!<br>The sower flings the seed and looks not back<br>Along his furrowed track;<br>The reaper leaves the stalks for other hands<br>To gird with circling bands;<br>The wind, earth's careless servant, truant-born,<br>Blows clean the beaten corn<br>And quits the thresher's floor, and goes his way<br>To sport with ocean's spray;<br>The headlong-stumbling rivulet scrambling down<br>To wash the sea-girt town,<br>Still babbling of the green and billowy waste<br>Whose salt he longs to taste,<br>Ere his warm wave its chilling clasp may feel<br>Has twirled the miller's wheel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The song has done its task that makes us bold<br>With secrets else untold,--<br>And mine has run its errand; through the dews<br>I tracked the flying Muse;<br>The daughter of the morning touched my lips<br>With roseate finger-tips;<br>Whether I would or would not, I must sing<br>With the new choirs of spring;<br>Now, as I watch the fading autumn day<br>And trill my softened lay,<br>I think of all that listened, and of one<br>For whom a brighter sun<br>Dawned at high summer's noon. Ah, comrades dear,<br>Are not all gathered here?<br>Our hearts have answered.--Yes! they hear our call:<br>All gathered here! all! all!</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=472411" data-title="Even-Song de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="IT may be, yes, it must be, Time that brings
An end to mortal things,
That sends the beggar Winter in the train
Of Autumn's burdened wain,--
Time, that is heir of all our earthly state,
And knoweth well to wait
Till sea hath turned to shore and sh..."></div>
</div>
</div>