<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538614" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On William Sommers Of Bremhill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs,<br>O aged man! Thy sand is almost run,<br>And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun,<br>Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares<br>Have been thy visitants from morn to morn.<br>While trembling on existence thou dost live,<br>Accept what human charity can give;<br>But standing thus, time-palsied, and forlorn,<br>Like a scathed oak, of all its boughs bereft,<br>God and the grave are thy best refuge left.<br>When the bells rung, and summer's smiling ray<br>Welcomed again the merry Whitsuntide,<br>And all my humble villagers were gay;<br>I saw thee sitting on the highway side,<br>To feel once more the warm sun's blessed beam:<br>Didst thou then think upon thy own gay prime,<br>On such a holiday, and the glad time<br>When thou wert young and happy, like a dream<br>Now perished! No; the murmured prayer alone<br>Rose from the trembling lips towards the Throne<br>Of Mercy; that ere spring returned again,<br>And the long winter blew its dreary blast,<br>To sweep the verdure from the fading plain,<br>Thy burden would be dropped, thy sorrows past!<br>O blind and aged man, bowed down with cares,<br>When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</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=538614" data-title="On William Sommers Of Bremhill de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs, O aged man! Thy sand is almost run, And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun, Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares Have been thy visitants from morn to morn. While trembling on existen..."></div> </div> </div>

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