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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343186" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the Threshold</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343186" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O God, my dream! I dreamed that you were dead;<br>Your mother hung above the couch and wept<br>Whereon you lay all white, and garlanded<br>With blooms of waxen whiteness. I had crept<br>Up to your chamber-door, which stood ajar,<br>And in the doorway watched you from afar,<br>Nor dared advance to kiss your lips and brow.<br>I had no part nor lot in you, as now;<br>Death had not broken between us the old bar;<br>Nor torn from out my heart the old, cold sense<br>Of your misprision and my impotence.</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=Amy+Levy">Amy Levy</a></strong></div>

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