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=506918" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Wood-Pile</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,<br>I paused and said, &quot;I will turn back from here.<br>No, I will go on farther -- and we shall see.&quot;<br>The hard snow held me, save where now and then<br>One foot went through. The view was all in lines<br>Straight up and down of tall slim trees<br>Too much alike to mark or name a place by<br>So as to say for certain I was here<br>Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.<br>A small bird flew before me. He was careful<br>To put a tree between us when he lighted,<br>And say no word to tell me who he was<br>Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.<br>He thought that I was after him for a feather --<br>The white one in his tail; like one who takes<br>Everything said as personal to himself.<br>One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.<br>And then there was a pile of wood for which<br>I forgot him and let his little fear<br>Carry him off the way I might have gone,<br>Without so much as wishing him good-night.<br>He went behind it to make his last stand.<br>It was a cord of maple, cut and split<br>And piled -- and measured, four by four by eight.<br>And not another like it could I see.<br>No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.<br>And it was older sure than this year's cutting,<br>Or even last year's or the year's before.<br>The wood was gray and the bark warping off it<br>And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis<br>Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.<br>What held it though on one side was a tree<br>Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,<br>These latter about to fall. I thought that only<br>Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks<br>Could so forget his handiwork on which<br>He spent himself, the labor of his ax,<br>And leave it there far from a useful fireplace<br>To warm the frozen swamp as best it could<br>With the slow smokeless burning of decay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Frost">Robert Frost</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=506918" data-title="The Wood-Pile de Robert Frost" data-description="Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, &quot;I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther -- and we shall see.&quot;
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went through. The view was all in lines
..."></div>
</div>
</div>