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=507783" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Will H. Low</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Youth now flees on feathered foot<br>Faint and fainter sounds the flute,<br>Rarer songs of gods; and still<br>Somewhere on the sunny hill,<br>Or along the winding stream,<br>Through the willows, flits a dream;<br>Flits but shows a smiling face,<br>Flees but with so quaint a grace,<br>None can choose to stay at home,<br>All must follow, all must roam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is unborn beauty: she<br>Now in air floats high and free,<br>Takes the sun and breaks the blue;--<br>Late with stooping pinion flew</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Raking hedgerow trees, and wet<br>Her wing in silver streams, and set<br>Shining foot on temple roof:<br>Now again she flies aloof,<br>Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't<br>By the evening's amethyst.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In wet wood and miry lane,<br>Still we pant and pound in vain;<br>Still with leaden foot we chase<br>Waning pinion, fainting face;<br>Still with gray hair we stumble on,<br>Till, behold, the vision gone!<br>Where hath fleeting beauty led?<br>To the doorway of the dead.<br>Life is over, life was gay:<br>We have come the primrose way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Louis+Stevenson">Robert Louis Stevenson</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=507783" data-title="To Will H. Low de Robert Louis Stevenson" data-description="Youth now flees on feathered foot
Faint and fainter sounds the flute,
Rarer songs of gods; and still
Somewhere on the sunny hill,
Or along the winding stream,
Through the willows, flits a dream;
Flits but shows a smiling face,
Flees but with so qu..."></div>
</div>
</div>