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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode Written On The First Of January</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come melancholy Moralizer--come!<br>Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath;<br> With me engarland now<br> The SEPULCHRE OF TIME!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come Moralizer to the funeral song!<br>I pour the dirge of the Departed Days,<br> For well the funeral song<br> Befits this solemn hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But hark! even now the merry bells ring round<br>With clamorous joy to welcome in this day,<br> This consecrated day,<br> To Mirth and Indolence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mortal! whilst Fortune with benignant hand<br>Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness,<br> Whilst her unclouded sun<br> Illumes thy summer day,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Canst thou rejoice--rejoice that Time flies fast?<br>That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun?<br> That swift the stream of Years<br> Rolls to Eternity?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish,<br>If Power be thine, remember what thou art--<br> Remember thou art Man,<br> And Death thine heritage!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hast thou known Love? does Beauty's better sun<br>Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile,<br> Her eye all eloquence,<br> Her voice all harmony?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh state of happiness! hark how the gale<br>Moans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove!<br> Winter is dark and cold--<br> Where now the charms of Spring?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sayst thou that Fancy paints the future scene<br>In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stol'd Maid<br> With stern and frowning front<br> Appals the shuddering soul?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And would'st thou bid me court her faery form<br>When, as she sports her in some happier mood,<br> Her many-colour'd robes<br> Dance varying to the Sun?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long road<br>Leads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vext height,<br> With anxious gaze survey<br> The fruitful far-off vale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh there are those who love the pensive song<br>To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant!<br> There are who at this hour<br> Will love to contemplate!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,<br>Rejoicing when the fading orb of day<br> Is sunk again in night,<br> That one day more is gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he who bears Affliction's heavy load<br>With patient piety, well pleas'd he knows<br> The World a pilgrimage,<br> The Grave the inn of rest.</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>
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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=508074" data-title="Ode Written On The First Of January de Robert Southey" data-description="Come melancholy Moralizer--come!
Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath;
 With me engarland now
 The SEPULCHRE OF TIME!

Come Moralizer to the funeral song!
I pour the dirge of the Departed Days,
 For well the funeral song
 Befits this solemn h..."></div>
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