<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536229" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy in April and September</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen...<br>I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves,<br>And a low whistle by the water's brim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still! Daffodil! Nay, hail me not so gaily,-<br>Your gay gold lily daunts me and deceives,<br>Who follow gleams more golden and more slim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look, brook! O run and look, O run!<br>The vain reeds shook? - Yet search till gray sea heaves,<br>And I will stray among these fields for him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gaze, daisy! Stare through haze and glare,<br>And mark the hazardous stars all dawns and eves,<br>For my eye withers, and his star wanes dim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Close, rose, and droop, heliotrope,<br>And shudder, hope! The shattering winter blows.<br>Drop, heliotrope, and close, rose...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mourn, corn, and sigh, rye.<br>Men garner you, but youth's head lies forlorn.<br>Sigh, rye, and mourn, corn...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Brood, wood, and muse, yews,<br>The ways gods use we have not understood.<br>Muse, yews, and brood, wood...</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfred+Owen">Wilfred Owen</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=536229" data-title="Elegy in April and September de Wilfred Owen" data-description="Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen... I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves, And a low whistle by the water's brim. Still! Daffodil! Nay, hail me not so gaily,- Your gay gold lily daunts me and deceives, Who follow glea..."></div> </div> </div>

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