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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478284" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song. Cold, Cold Is The Blast When December Is Howling</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling,<br>Cold are the damps on a dying man's brow,--<br>Stern are the seas when the wild waves are rolling,<br>And sad is the grave where a loved one lies low;<br>But colder is scorn from the being who loved thee, <br>More stern is the sneer from the friend who has proved thee,<br>More sad are the tears when their sorrows have moved thee,<br>Which mixed with groans anguish and wild madness flow--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And ah! poor — has felt all this horror,<br>Full long the fallen victim contended with fate:<br>‘Till a destitute outcast abandoned to sorrow,<br>She sought her babe's food at her ruiner's gate--<br>Another had charmed the remorseless betrayer,<br>He turned laughing aside from her moans and her prayer,<br>She said nothing, but wringing the wet from her hair,<br>Crossed the dark mountain side, though the hour it was late.<br>'Twas on the wild height of the dark Penmanmawr,<br>That the form of the wasted -- reclined;<br>She shrieked to the ravens that croaked from afar,<br>And she sighed to the gusts of the wild sweeping wind.--<br>I call not yon rocks where the thunder peals rattle,<br>I call not yon clouds where the elements battle,<br>But thee, cruel -- I call thee unkind!'--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then she wreathed in her hair the wild flowers of the mountain,<br>And deliriously laughing, a garland entwined, <br>She bedewed it with tears, then she hung o'er the fountain,<br>And leaving it, cast it a prey to the wind.<br>'Ah! go,' she exclaimed, 'when the tempest is yelling,<br>'Tis unkind to be cast on the sea that is swelling,<br>But I left, a pitiless outcast, my dwelling, <br>My garments are torn, so they say is my mind--'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not long lived --, but over her grave<br>Waved the desolate form of a storm-blasted yew,<br>Around it no demons or ghosts dare to rave,<br>But spirits of peace steep her slumbers in dew. <br>Then stay thy swift steps mid the dark mountain heather,<br>Though chill blow the wind and severe is the weather,<br>For perfidy, traveller! cannot bereave her,<br>Of the tears, to the tombs of the innocent due.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">JULY, 1810.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</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=478284" data-title="Song. Cold, Cold Is The Blast When December Is Howling de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling,
Cold are the damps on a dying man's brow,--
Stern are the seas when the wild waves are rolling,
And sad is the grave where a loved one lies low;
But colder is scorn from the being who loved thee, 
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