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=538795" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cumnor Hall</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dews of summer nighte did falle,<br>The moone (sweete regente of the skye)<br>Silver'd the walles of Cumnor Halle,<br>And manye an oake that grewe therebye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nowe noughte was hearde beneath the skies,<br>(The soundes of busye lyfe were stille,)<br>Save an unhappie ladie's sighes,<br>That issued from that lonelye pile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Leicester,&quot; shee cried, &quot;is thys thy love<br>That thou so oft has sworne to mee<br>To leave mee in thys lonelye grove,<br>Immurr'd in shameful privitie?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;No more thou com'st with lover's speede,<br>Thy once-beloved bryde to see;<br>But bee shee alive, or bee shee deade,<br>I feare (sterne earle's) the same to thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Not so the usage I receiv'd,<br>When happye in my father's halle;<br>No faithlesse husbande then me griev'd,<br>No chilling feares did mee appall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I rose up with the chearful morne,<br>No lark more blith, no flow'r more gaye;<br>And, like the birde that hauntes the thorne,<br>So merrylie sung the live-long daye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;If that my beautye is but smalle,<br>Among court ladies all despis'd;<br>Why didst thou rend it from that halle,<br>Where (scorneful earle) it well was priz'de?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And when you first to mee made suite,<br>How fayre I was you oft would saye!<br>And, proude of conquest--pluck'd the fruite,<br>Then lefte the blossom to decaye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Yes, nowe neglected and despis'd,<br>The rose is pale--the lilly's deade--<br>But hee that once their charmes so priz'd,<br>Is sure the cause those charms are fledde.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;For knowe, when sick'ning griefe doth preye<br>And tender love's repay'd with scorne,<br>The sweetest beautye will decaye--<br>What flow'ret can endure the storme?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;At court I'm tolde is beauty's throne,<br>Where everye lady's passing rare;<br>That eastern flow'rs, that shame the sun,<br>Are not so glowing, not soe fayre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Then, earle, why didst thou leave the bedds<br>Where roses and where lillys vie,<br>To seek a primrose, whose pale shades<br>Must sicken--when those gaudes are bye?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;'Mong rural beauties I was one,<br>Among the fields wild flow'rs are faire;<br>Some countrye swayne might mee have won,<br>And thoughte my beautie passing rare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;But, Leicester, (or I much am wronge)<br>Or tis not beautye lures thy vowes;<br>Rather ambition's gilded crowne<br>Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Then, Leicester, why, again I pleade,<br>(The injur'd surelye may repyne,)<br>Why didst thou wed a countrye mayde,<br>When some fayre princesse might be thyne?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Why didst thou praise my humble charmes,<br>And, oh! then leave them to decaye?<br>Why didst thou win me to thy armes,<br>Then leave me to mourne the live-long daye?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The village maidens of the plaine<br>Salute me lowly as they goe;<br>Envious they marke my silken trayne,<br>Nor thinke a countesse can have woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The simple nymphs! they little knowe,<br>How farre more happy's their estate--<br>To smile for joye--than sigh for woe--<br>To be contente--than to be greate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Howe farre lesse bleste am I than them?<br>Dailye to pyne and waste with care!<br>Like the poore plante, that from its stem<br>Divided--feeles the chilling ayre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Nor (cruel earl!) can I enjoye<br>The humble charmes of solitude;<br>Your minions proude my peace destroye,<br>By sullen frownes or pratings rude.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Laste nyghte, as sad I chanc'd to straye,<br>The village deathe-bell smote my eare;<br>They wink'd asyde, and seem'd to saye,<br>Countesse, prepare--thy end is neare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And nowe, while happye peasantes sleepe,<br>Here I set lonelye and forlorne;<br>No one to soothe mee as I weepe,<br>Save phylomel on yonder thorne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My spirits flag--my hopes decaye--<br>Still that dreade deathe-bell smites my eare;<br>And many a boding seems to saye,<br>Countess, prepare--thy end is neare.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus sore and sad that ladie griev'd,<br>In Cumnor Halle so lone and dreare;<br>And manye a heartefelte sighe shee heav'd<br>And let falle manye a bitter teare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And ere the dawne of daye appear'd,<br>In Cumnor Hall so lone and dreare,<br>Full manye a piercing screame was hearde,<br>And manye a crye of mortal feare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The death-belle thrice was hearde to ring,<br>An aërial voyce was hearde to call,<br>And thrice the raven flapp'd its wyng<br>Arounde the tow'rs of Cumnor Hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mastiffe howl'd at village doore,<br>The oaks were shatter'd on the greene;<br>Woe was the houre--for never more<br>That haplesse countesse e'er was seene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And in that manor now no more<br>Is chearful feaste and sprightly balle;<br>For ever since that drearye houre<br>Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The village maides, with fearful glance,<br>Avoid the antient mossgrowne walle;<br>Nor ever leade the merrye dance,<br>Among the groves of Cumnor Halle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full manye a travellor oft hath sigh'd,<br>And pensive wepte the countess' falle,<br>As wand'ring onwards they've espied<br>The haunted tow'rs of Cumnor Halle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Mickle">William Mickle</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=538795" data-title="Cumnor Hall de William Mickle" data-description="The dews of summer nighte did falle,
The moone (sweete regente of the skye)
Silver'd the walles of Cumnor Halle,
And manye an oake that grewe therebye.

Nowe noughte was hearde beneath the skies,
(The soundes of busye lyfe were stille,)
Save an un..."></div>
</div>
</div>