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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539499" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dear Reader</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Baudelaire considers you his brother, <br>and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs <br>as if to make sure you have not closed the book, <br>and now I am summoning you up again, <br>attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing <br>in the doorway of these words. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pope welcomes you into the glow of his study, <br>takes down a leather-bound Ovid to show you. <br>Tennyson lifts the latch to a moated garden, <br>and with Yeats you lean against a broken pear tree, <br>the day hooded by low clouds. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now you are here with me, <br>composed in the open field of this page, <br>no room or manicured garden to enclose us, <br>no Zeitgeist marching in the background, <br>no heavy ethos thrown over us like a cloak. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Instead, our meeting is so brief and accidental, <br>unnoticed by the monocled eye of History, <br>you could be the man I held the door for <br>this morning at the bank or post office <br>or the one who wrapped my speckled fish. <br>You could be someone I passed on the street <br>or the face behind the wheel of an oncoming car. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sunlight flashes off your windshield, <br>and when I look up into the small, posted mirror, <br>I watch you diminish—my echo, my twin— <br>and vanish around a curve in this whip <br>of a road we can't help traveling together.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Taylor+Collins">William Taylor Collins</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=539499" data-title="Dear Reader de William Taylor Collins" data-description="Baudelaire considers you his brother, 
and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs 
as if to make sure you have not closed the book, 
and now I am summoning you up again, 
attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing 
in the doorway of thes..."></div>
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