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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512860" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Keepsake</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,<br>The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,<br>Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall<br>Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,<br>Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark,<br>Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose<br>(In vain the darling of successful love)<br>Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years,<br>The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone.<br>Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk<br>By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side,<br>That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,<br>Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not!<br>So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline<br>With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk<br>Has worked, (the flowers which most she knew I loved,)<br>And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the cool morning twilight, early waked <br>By her full bosom's joyous restlessness,<br>Softly she rose, and lightly stole along,<br>Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower,<br>Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze<br>Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,<br>Making a quiet image of disquiet<br>In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool.<br>There, in that bower where first she owned her love,<br>And let me kiss my own warn tear of joy<br>From off her glowing cheek, she sate and stretched <br>The silk upon the frame, and worked her name<br>Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me-not--<br>Her own dear name, with her own auburn hair!<br>That forced to wander till sweet spring return,<br>I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look,<br>Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood<br>Has made me wish to steal away and weep,)<br>Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss<br>With which she promised, that when spring returned <br>She would resign one half of that dear name,<br>And own thenceforth no other name but mine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Samuel+Taylor+Coleridge">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</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=512860" data-title="The Keepsake de Samuel Taylor Coleridge" data-description="The tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,
The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,
Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,
Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark,
Or mountain-fin..."></div>
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