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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508397" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Insomnia</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heigh ho! to sleep I vainly try;<br>Since twelve I haven't closed an eye,<br>And now it's three, and as I lie,<br>From Notre Dame to St. Denis<br>The bells of Paris chime to me;<br>&quot;You're young,&quot; they say, &quot;and strong and free.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I do not turn with sighs and groans<br>To ease my limbs, to rest my bones,<br>As if my bed were stuffed with stones,<br>No peevish murmur tips my tongue --<br>Ah no! for every sound upflung<br>Says: &quot;Lad, you're free and strong and young.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so beneath the sheet's caress<br>My body purrs with happiness;<br>Joy bubbles in my veins. . . . Ah yes,<br>My very blood that leaps along<br>Is chiming in a joyous song,<br>Because I'm young and free and strong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maybe it is the springtide. I am so happy I am afraid. <br>The sense of living fills me with exultation. I want to sing, <br>to dance; I am dithyrambic with delight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think the moon must be to blame:<br>It fills the room with fairy flame;<br>It paints the wall, it seems to pour<br>A dappled flood upon the floor.<br>I rise and through the window stare . . .<br>Ye gods! how marvelously fair!<br>From Montrouge to the Martyr's Hill,<br>A silver city rapt and still;<br>Dim, drowsy deeps of opal haze,<br>And spire and dome in diamond blaze;<br>The little lisping leaves of spring<br>Like sequins softly glimmering;<br>Each roof a plaque of argent sheen,<br>A gauzy gulf the space between;<br>Each chimney-top a thing of grace,<br>Where merry moonbeams prank and chase;<br>And all that sordid was and mean,<br>Just Beauty, deathless and serene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O magic city of a dream!<br>From glory unto glory gleam;<br>And I will gaze and pity those<br>Who on their pillows drowse and doze . . .<br>And as I've nothing else to do,<br>Of tea I'll make a rousing brew,<br>And coax my pipes until they croon,<br>And chant a ditty to the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There! my tea is black and strong. Inspiration comes with <br>every sip. Now for the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon peeped out behind the hill<br>As yellow as an apricot;<br>Then up and up it climbed until<br>Into the sky it fairly got;<br>The sky was vast and violet;<br>The poor moon seemed to faint in fright,<br>And pale it grew and paler yet,<br>Like fine old silver, rinsed and bright.<br>And yet it climbed so bravely on<br>Until it mounted heaven-high;<br>Then earthward it serenely shone,<br>A silver sovereign of the sky,<br>A bland sultana of the night,<br>Surveying realms of lily light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</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=508397" data-title="Insomnia de Robert William Service" data-description="Heigh ho! to sleep I vainly try;
Since twelve I haven't closed an eye,
And now it's three, and as I lie,
From Notre Dame to St. Denis
The bells of Paris chime to me;
&quot;You're young,&quot; they say, &quot;and strong and free.&quot;

I do not tu..."></div>
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