<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472643" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Under the Violets</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">HER hands are cold; her face is white;<br> No more her pulses come and go;<br> Her eyes are shut to life and light;--<br> Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,<br> And lay her where the violets blow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But not beneath a graven stone,<br> To plead for tears with alien eyes;<br> A slender cross of wood alone<br> Shall say, that here a maiden lies<br> In peace beneath the peaceful skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And gray old trees of hugest limb<br> Shall wheel their circling shadows round<br> To make the scorching sunlight dim<br> That drinks the greenness from the ground,<br> And drop their dead leaves on her mound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,<br> And through their leaves the robins call,<br> And, ripening in the autumn sun,<br> The acorns and the chestnuts fall,<br> Doubt not that she will heed them all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For her the morning choir shall sing<br> Its matins from the branches high,<br> And every minstrel-voice of Spring,<br> That trills beneath the April sky,<br> Shall greet her with its earliest cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> When, turning round their dial-track,<br> Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,<br> Her little mourners, clad in black,<br> The crickets, sliding through the grass,<br> Shall pipe for her an evening mass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> At last the rootlets of the trees<br> Shall find the prison where she lies,<br> And bear the buried dust they seize<br> In leaves and blossoms to the skies.<br> So may the soul that warmed it rise!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> If any, born of kindlier blood,<br> Should ask, What maiden lies below?<br> Say only this: A tender bud,<br> That tried to blossom in the snow,<br> Lies withered where the violets blow.</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=472643" data-title="Under the Violets de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="HER hands are cold; her face is white; No more her pulses come and go; Her eyes are shut to life and light;-- Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, And lay her where the violets blow. But not beneath a graven stone, To plead for tears with ..."></div> </div> </div>

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