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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341911" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Landscape By Courbet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341911" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Low lies the mere beneath the moorside, still<br>And glad of silence: down the wood sweeps clear<br>To the utmost verge where fed with many a rill<br> Low lies the mere.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341911" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The wind speaks only summer: eye nor ear<br>Sees aught at all of dark, hears aught of shrill,<br>From sound or shadow felt or fancied here.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341911" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Strange, as we praise the dead man's might and skill,<br>Strange that harsh thoughts should make such heavy cheer,<br>While, clothed with peace by heaven's most gentle will,<br> Low lies the mere.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Algernon+Charles+Swinburne">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a></strong></div>

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