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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540217" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To H. C.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SIX YEARS OLD</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought;<br>Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,<br>And fittest to unutterable thought<br>The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;<br>Thou faery voyager! that dost float<br>In such clear water, that thy boat<br>May rather seem<br>To brood on air than on an earthly stream;<br>Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,<br>Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; <br>O blessed vision! happy child!<br>Thou art so exquisitely wild,<br>I think of thee with many fears<br>For what may be thy lot in future years.<br>I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,<br>Lord of thy house and hospitality;<br>And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest<br>But when she sate within the touch of thee.<br>O too industrious folly!<br>O vain and causeless melancholy! <br>Nature will either end thee quite;<br>Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,<br>Preserve for thee, by individual right,<br>A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks.<br>What hast thou to do with sorrow,<br>Or the injuries of to-morrow?<br>Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings forth,<br>Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks,<br>Or to be trailed along the soiling earth;<br>A gem that glitters while it lives, <br>And no forewarning gives;<br>But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife<br>Slips in a moment out of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</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=540217" data-title="To H. C. de William Wordsworth" data-description="SIX YEARS OLD

O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought
The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou faery voyager! that dost float
In such clear water, that..."></div>
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