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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538756" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Pen And The Album</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I am Miss Catherine's book,' the album speaks;<br>'I've lain among your tomes these many weeks;<br>I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace:<br>Come! draw me off a funny little face;<br>And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PEN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen;<br>I've served him three long years, and drawn since then<br>Thousands of funny women and droll men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O Album! could I tell you all his ways<br>And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days,<br>Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ALBUM.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few;<br>Tell me a curious anecdote or two,<br>And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PEN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Since he my faithful service did engage<br>To follow him through his queer pilgrimage,<br>I've drawn and written many a line and page.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes,<br>And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes;<br>And merry little children's books at times.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain;<br>The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain;<br>The idle word that he'd wish back again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread;<br>To joke with sorrow aching in his head;<br>And make your laughter when his own heart bled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I've spoke with men of all degree and sort—<br>Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court;<br>Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago,<br>Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow,<br>Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball,<br>Tradesman's polite reminders of his small<br>Account due Christmas last—I've answered all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half-<br>Guinea; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph;<br>So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff.<br>Day after day still dipping in my trough,<br>And scribbling pages after pages off.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Day after day the labor's to be done,<br>And sure as comes the postman and the sun,<br>The indefatigable ink must run.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Go back, my pretty little gilded tome,<br>To a fair mistress and a pleasant home,<br>Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit,<br>However rude my verse, or poor my wit,<br>Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Kind lady! till my last of lines is penn'd,<br>My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end,<br>Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Not all are so that were so in past years;<br>Voices, familiar once, no more he hears;<br>Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'So be it:—joys will end and tears will dry—<br>Album! my master bids me wish good-by,<br>He'll send you to your mistress presently.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And thus with thankful heart he closes you;<br>Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew<br>So gentle, and so generous, and so true.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Nor pass the words as idle phrases by;<br>Stranger! I never writ a flattery,<br>Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Makepeace+Thackeray">William Makepeace Thackeray</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=538756" data-title="The Pen And The Album de William Makepeace Thackeray" data-description="'I am Miss Catherine's book,' the album speaks;
'I've lain among your tomes these many weeks;
I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks.

'Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace:
Come! draw me off a funny little face;
And, prithee, se..."></div>
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