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=508099" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Cross Roads</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was an old man breaking stones<br>To mend the turnpike way,<br>He sat him down beside a brook<br>And out his bread and cheese he took,<br>For now it was mid-day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He lent his back against a post,<br>His feet the brook ran by;<br>And there were water-cresses growing,<br>And pleasant was the water's flowing<br>For he was hot and dry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A soldier with his knapsack on<br>Came travelling o'er the down,<br>The sun was strong and he was tired,<br>And of the old man he enquired<br>How far to Bristol town.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Half an hour's walk for a young man<br>By lanes and fields and stiles.<br>But you the foot-path do not know,<br>And if along the road you go<br>Why then 'tis three good miles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The soldier took his knapsack off<br>For he was hot and dry;<br>And out his bread and cheese he took<br>And he sat down beside the brook<br>To dine in company.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old friend! in faith, the soldier says<br>I envy you almost;<br>My shoulders have been sorely prest<br>And I should like to sit and rest,<br>My back against that post.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In such a sweltering day as this<br>A knapsack is the devil!<br>And if on t'other side I sat<br>It would not only spoil our chat<br>But make me seem uncivil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old man laugh'd and moved. I wish<br>It were a great-arm'd chair!<br>But this may help a man at need;<br>And yet it was a cursed deed<br>That ever brought it there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's a poor girl lies buried here<br>Beneath this very place.<br>The earth upon her corpse is prest<br>This stake is driven into her breast<br>And a stone is on her face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The soldier had but just lent back<br>And now he half rose up.<br>There's sure no harm in dining here,<br>My friend? and yet to be sincere<br>I should not like to sup.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God rest her! she is still enough<br>Who sleeps beneath our feet!<br>The old man cried. No harm I trow<br>She ever did herself, tho' now<br>She lies where four roads meet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have past by about that hour<br>When men are not most brave,<br>It did not make my heart to fail,<br>And I have heard the nightingale<br>Sing sweetly on her grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have past by about that hour<br>When Ghosts their freedom have,<br>But there was nothing here to fright,<br>And I have seen the glow-worm's light<br>Shine on the poor girl's grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's one who like a Christian lies<br>Beneath the church-tree's shade;<br>I'd rather go a long mile round<br>Than pass at evening thro' the ground<br>Wherein that man is laid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's one that in the church-yard lies<br>For whom the bell did toll;<br>He lies in consecrated ground,<br>But for all the wealth in Bristol town<br>I would not be with his soul!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Did'st see a house below the hill<br>That the winds and the rains destroy?<br>'Twas then a farm where he did dwell,<br>And I remember it full well<br>When I was a growing boy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And she was a poor parish girl<br>That came up from the west,<br>From service hard she ran away<br>And at that house in evil day<br>Was taken in to rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The man he was a wicked man<br>And an evil life he led;<br>Rage made his cheek grow deadly white<br>And his grey eyes were large and light,<br>And in anger they grew red.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The man was bad, the mother worse,<br>Bad fruit of a bad stem,<br>'Twould make your hair to stand-on-end<br>If I should tell to you my friend<br>The things that were told of them!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Did'st see an out-house standing by?<br>The walls alone remain;<br>It was a stable then, but now<br>Its mossy roof has fallen through<br>All rotted by the rain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The poor girl she had serv'd with them<br>Some half-a-year, or more,<br>When she was found hung up one day<br>Stiff as a corpse and cold as clay<br>Behind that stable door!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is a very lonesome place,<br>No hut or house is near;<br>Should one meet a murderer there alone<br>'Twere vain to scream, and the dying groan<br>Would never reach mortal ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there were strange reports about<br>That the coroner never guest.<br>So he decreed that she should lie<br>Where four roads meet in infamy,<br>With a stake drove in her breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon a board they carried her<br>To the place where four roads met,<br>And I was one among the throng<br>That hither followed them along,<br>I shall never the sight forget!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They carried her upon a board<br>In the cloaths in which she died;<br>I saw the cap blow off her head,<br>Her face was of a dark dark red<br>Her eyes were starting wide:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think they could not have been closed<br>So widely did they strain.<br>I never saw so dreadful a sight,<br>And it often made me wake at night,<br>For I saw her face again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They laid her here where four roads meet.<br>Beneath this very place,<br>The earth upon her corpse was prest,<br>This post is driven into her breast,<br>And a stone is on her face.</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=508099" data-title="The Cross Roads de Robert Southey" data-description="There was an old man breaking stones
To mend the turnpike way,
He sat him down beside a brook
And out his bread and cheese he took,
For now it was mid-day.

He lent his back against a post,
His feet the brook ran by;
And there were water-cresses g..."></div>
</div>
</div>