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=508944" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Virginity</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone;<br>While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on.<br>She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My mother is three-score and ten, while I am forty-three,<br>You don't know how it hurts me when we go somewhere to tea,<br>And people tell her on the sly we look like sisters, she and I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It hurts to see her secret glee; but most, because it's true.<br>Sometimes I think she thinks that she looks younger of the two.<br>Oh as I gently take her arm, how I would love to do her harm!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For ever since I cam from school she put it in my head<br>I was a weakling and a fool, a &quot;born old maid&quot; she said.<br>&quot;You'll always stay at home,&quot; sighed she, &quot;and keep your Mother company.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh pity is a bitter brew; I've drunk it to the lees;<br>For there is little else to do but do my best to please:<br>My life has been so little worth I curse the hour she gave me birth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I curse the hour she gave me breath, who never wished me wife;<br>My happiest day will be the death of her who gave me life;<br>I hate her for the life she gave: I hope to dance upon her grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She wearing roses in her hat; I wince to hear her say:<br>&quot;Poor Alice this, poor Alice that,&quot; she drains my joy away.<br>It seems to brace her up that she can pity, pity, pity me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You'll see us walking in the street, with careful step and slow;<br>And people often say: &quot;How sweet!&quot; as arm in arm we go.<br>Like chums we never are apart - yet oh the hatred in my heart!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My chest is weak, and I might be (O God!) the first to go.<br>For her what triumph that would be - she thinks of it, I know.<br>To outlive all her kith and kin - how she would glow beneath her skin!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She says she will not make her Will, until she takes to bed;<br>She little thinks if thoughts could kill, to-morrow she'd be dead. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Please come to breakfast, Mother dear; Your coffee will be cold I fear.&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>
<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=508944" data-title="Virginity de Robert William Service" data-description="My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone;
While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on.
She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness.

My mother is three-score and ten, while I am forty-three,
Yo..."></div>
</div>
</div>