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=508047" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>English Eclogues III - The Funeral</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The coffin as I past across the lane<br>Came sudden on my view. It was not here,<br>A sight of every day, as in the streets<br>Of the great city, and we paus'd and ask'd<br>Who to the grave was going. It was one,<br>A village girl, they told us, who had borne<br>An eighteen months strange illness, and had pined<br>With such slow wasting that the hour of death<br>Came welcome to her. We pursued our way<br>To the house of mirth, and with that idle talk<br>That passes o'er the mind and is forgot,<br>We wore away the time. But it was eve<br>When homewardly I went, and in the air<br>Was that cool freshness, that discolouring shade<br>That makes the eye turn inward. Then I heard<br>Over the vale the heavy toll of death<br>Sound slow; it made me think upon the dead,<br>I questioned more and learnt her sorrowful tale.<br>She bore unhusbanded a mother's name,<br>And he who should have cherished her, far off<br>Sail'd on the seas, self-exil'd from his home,<br>For he was poor. Left thus, a wretched one,<br>Scorn made a mock of her, and evil tongues<br>Were busy with her name. She had one ill<br>Heavier, neglect, forgetfulness from him<br>Whom she had loved so dearly. Once he wrote,<br>But only once that drop of comfort came<br>To mingle with her cup of wretchedness;<br>And when his parents had some tidings from him,<br>There was no mention of poor Hannah there,<br>Or 'twas the cold enquiry, bitterer<br>Than silence. So she pined and pined away<br>And for herself and baby toil'd and toil'd,<br>Nor did she, even on her death bed, rest<br>From labour, knitting with her outstretch'd arms<br>Till she sunk with very weakness. Her old mother<br>Omitted no kind office, and she work'd<br>Hard, and with hardest working barely earn'd<br>Enough to make life struggle and prolong<br>The pains of grief and sickness. Thus she lay<br>On the sick bed of poverty, so worn<br>With her long suffering and that painful thought<br>That at her heart lay rankling, and so weak,<br>That she could make no effort to express<br>Affection for her infant; and the child,<br>Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her<br>With a strange infantine ingratitude<br>Shunn'd her as one indifferent. She was past<br>That anguish, for she felt her hour draw on,<br>And 'twas her only comfoft now to think<br>Upon the grave. 'Poor girl!' her mother said,<br>'Thou hast suffered much!' 'aye mother! there is none<br>'Can tell what I have suffered!' she replied,<br>'But I shall soon be where the weary rest.'<br>And she did rest her soon, for it pleased God<br>To take her to his mercy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Southey">Robert Southey</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=508047" data-title="English Eclogues III - The Funeral de Robert Southey" data-description="The coffin as I past across the lane
Came sudden on my view. It was not here,
A sight of every day, as in the streets
Of the great city, and we paus'd and ask'd
Who to the grave was going. It was one,
A village girl, they told us, who had borne
An..."></div>
</div>
</div>