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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508653" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Son</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sky!<br>And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.<br>For my hair is grey, and his was gold; he'd the best of his life to live;<br>And I'd loved him so, and I'm old, I'm old; and he's all I had to give.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah yes, he was proud and swift and gay, but oh how my eyes were dim!<br>With the sun in his heart he went away, but he took the sun with him.<br>For look! How the leaves are falling now, and the winter won't be long. . . .<br>Oh boy, my boy with the sunny brow, and the lips of love and of song!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How we used to sit at the day's sweet end, we two by the firelight's gleam,<br>And we'd drift to the Valley of Let's Pretend, on the beautiful river of Dream.<br>Oh dear little heart! All wealth untold would I gladly, gladly pay<br>Could I just for a moment closely hold that golden head to my grey.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For I gaze in the fire, and I'm seeing there a child, and he waves to me;<br>And I run and I hold him up in the air, and he laughs and shouts with glee;<br>A little bundle of love and mirth, crying: &quot;Come, Mumsie dear!&quot;<br>Ah me! If he called from the ends of the earth I know that my heart would hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet the thought comes thrilling through all my pain: how worthier could he die?<br>Yea, a loss like that is a glorious gain, and pitiful proud am I.<br>For Peace must be bought with blood and tears, and the boys of our hearts must pay;<br>And so in our joy of the after-years, let us bless them every day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And though I know there's a hasty grave with a poor little cross at its head,<br>And the gold of his youth he so gladly gave, yet to me he'll never be dead.<br>And the sun in my Devon lane will be gay, and my boy will be with me still,<br>So I'm finding the heart to smile and say: &quot;Oh God, if it be Thy Will!&quot;</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=508653" data-title="Son de Robert William Service" data-description="He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sky!
And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.
For my hair is grey, and his was gold; he'd the best of his life to live;
And I'd loved him so, and I'm old, I'm old; and he..."></div>
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