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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472517" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Prelude To A Volume Printed In Raised Letters For The Blind</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DEAR friends, left darkling in the long eclipse<br>That veils the noonday,--you whose finger-tips<br>A meaning in these ridgy leaves can find<br>Where ours go stumbling, senseless, helpless, blind.<br>This wreath of verse how dare I offer you<br>To whom the garden's choicest gifts are due?<br>The hues of all its glowing beds are ours,<br>Shall you not claim its sweetest-smelling flowers?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, those I have I bring you,--at their birth<br>Life's cheerful sunshine warmed the grateful earth;<br>If my rash boyhood dropped some idle seeds,<br>And here and there you light on saucy weeds<br>Among the fairer growths, remember still<br>Song comes of grace, and not of human will:<br>We get a jarring note when most we try,<br>Then strike the chord we know not how or why;<br>Our stately verse with too aspiring art<br>Oft overshoots and fails to reach the heart,<br>While the rude rhyme one human throb endears<br>Turns grief to smiles, and softens mirth to tears.<br>Kindest of critics, ye whose fingers read,<br>From Nature's lesson learn the poet's creed;<br>The queenly tulip flaunts in robes of flame,<br>The wayside seedling scarce a tint may claim,<br>Yet may the lowliest leaflets that unfold<br>A dewdrop fresh from heaven's own chalice hold.</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>
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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=472517" data-title="Prelude To A Volume Printed In Raised Letters For The Blind de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="DEAR friends, left darkling in the long eclipse
That veils the noonday,--you whose finger-tips
A meaning in these ridgy leaves can find
Where ours go stumbling, senseless, helpless, blind.
This wreath of verse how dare I offer you
To whom the gard..."></div>
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