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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472587" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Only Daughter. Illustration of a Picture</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They bid me strike the idle strings,<br>As if my summer days<br>Had shaken sunbeams from their wings<br>To warm my autumn lays;<br>They bring to me their painted urn,<br>As if it were not time<br>To lift my gauntlet and to spurn<br>The lists of boyish rhyme;<br>And were it not that I have still<br>Some weakness in my heart<br>That clings around my stronger will<br>And pleads for gentler art,<br>Perchance I had not turned away<br>The thoughts grown tame with toil,<br>To cheat this lone and pallid ray,<br>That wastes the midnight oil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! with every year I feel<br>Some roses leave my brow;<br>Too young for wisdomâ€™s tardy seal,<br>Too old for garlands now. <br>Yet, while the dewy breath of spring<br>Steals oâ€™er the tingling air,<br>And spreads and fans each emerald wing<br>The forest soon shall wear. <br>How bright the opening year would seem,<br>Had I one look like thine<br>To meet me when the morning beam<br>Unseals these lids of mine! <br>Too long I bear this lonely lot,<br>That bids my heart run wild<br>To press the lips that love me not,<br>To clasp the strangerâ€™s child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How oft beyond the dashing seas,<br>Amidst those royal bowers,<br>Where danced the lilacs in the breeze,<br>And swung the chestnut-flowers,<br>I wandered like a wearied slave<br>Whose morning task is done,<br>To watch the little hands that gave<br>Their whiteness to the sun;<br>To revel in the bright young eyes,<br>Whose lustre sparkled through<br>The sable fringe of Southern skies<br>Or gleamed in Saxon blue! <br>How oft I heard anotherâ€™s name<br>Called in some truantâ€™s tone;<br>Sweet accents! which I longed to claim,<br>To learn and lisp my own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too soon the gentle hands, that pressed<br>The ringlets of the child,<br>Are folded on the faithful breast<br>Where first he breathed and smiled;<br>Too oft the clinging arms untwine,<br>The melting lips forget,<br>And darkness veils the bridal shrine<br>Where wreaths and torches met;<br>If Heaven but leaves a single thread<br>Of Hopeâ€™s dissolving chain,<br>Even when her parting plumes are spread,<br>It bids them fold again;<br>The cradle rocks beside the tomb;<br>The cheek now changed and chill<br>Smiles on us in the morning bloom<br>Of one that loves us still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet image! I have done thee wrong<br>To claim this destined lay;<br>The leaf that asked an idle song<br>Must bear my tears away. <br>Yet, in thy memory shouldst thou keep<br>This else forgotten strain,<br>Till years have taught thine eyes to weep,<br>And flatteryâ€™s voice is vain;<br>Oh then, thou fledgling of the nest,<br>Like the long-wandering dove,<br>Thy weary heart may faint for rest,<br>As mine, on changeless love;<br>And while these sculptured lines retrace<br>The hours now dancing by,<br>This vision of thy girlish grace<br>May cost thee, too, a sigh.</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=472587" data-title="The Only Daughter. Illustration of a Picture de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="They bid me strike the idle strings,
As if my summer days
Had shaken sunbeams from their wings
To warm my autumn lays;
They bring to me their painted urn,
As if it were not time
To lift my gauntlet and to spurn
The lists of boyish rhyme;
And were ..."></div>
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