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=477044" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Wolves Out Tonight</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wolves out tonight.<br>The smart dogs are stay-at-homes.<br>No berries. The bears have torn up<br>the garbage dumps and heaped<br>what fat they could manage in caves<br>to sleep their hunger away <br>in whatever a bear dreams of.<br>The natives are predicting a hard winter <br>by counting beads on an abacus of holly.<br>Corrugated drifts of the first snow, <br>wavelength after wavelength of a frozen tide<br>even if you were to take it at the high<br>would lead to nowhere but here <br>where the common mullein<br>whose cobs and towers of yellow flowers<br>are now rags of light <br>thrown to the back of the closet of the sun, <br>its grey-green felt leaves<br>too brittle and withered <br>to insulate an Ojibway’s moccasin.<br>And there, Jupiter rising in the east, <br>every planet so sublimely immersed<br>in its own business, it hasn’t got time<br>to interfere in the worldly affairs of this one.<br>Here, six months of the year, <br>earth in a coma of its own <br>and everything waiting like a relative <br>beside a rumpled white hospital bed <br>for spring to open <br>the eyelids of the flowers again. <br>The wind whips and spurs <br>the flanks of the horses<br>that have dug their hoofs <br>into the frozen earth<br>standing in the meagre fields, <br>bridges to nowhere, <br>half-finished wharfs in the snow, <br>the wind whipping <br>their ice-encrusted manes <br>like a cat o’ nine tails<br>stinging the soft lustre <br>of their wounded eyes.<br>Wolves out tonight<br>down by the lake <br>searching the cattails for muskrat, <br>an agony of longing in their howling<br>that’s older and deeper than pain. <br>The moon almost full in Taurus. <br>Does it ever answer them <br>like a snowy owl <br>high in a basswood tree nearby <br>or the echo of a wavelength <br>long after the loon has gone<br>it left as a keepsake in a locket <br>like the sea leaves itself in a shell? <br>Languages in a polyglot wilderness <br>you can only listen to <br>but never speak until <br>you let the silence speak for you.<br>Tracks in the first snow<br>like a junkie’s arm <br>leading away from a shell-shocked juniper<br>each with glyphs and scripts of their own. <br>Just like poetry. <br>Line by line.<br>There goes the hare. <br>Here comes the fox.<br>Or tonight, more likely, a wolf.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</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=477044" data-title="Wolves Out Tonight de Patrick White" data-description="Wolves out tonight.
The smart dogs are stay-at-homes.
No berries. The bears have torn up
the garbage dumps and heaped
what fat they could manage in caves
to sleep their hunger away 
in whatever a bear dreams of.
The natives are predicting a hard w..."></div>
</div>
</div>