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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343187" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the Wye in May</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343187" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Now is the perfect moment of the year.<br>Half naked branches, half a mist of green,<br>Vivid and delicate the slopes appear;<br>The cool, soft air is neither fierce nor keen,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343187" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And in the temperate sun we feel no fear;<br>Of all the hours which shall be and have been,<br>It is the briefest as it is most dear,<br>It is the dearest as the shortest seen.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343187" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O it was best, belovèd, at the first.--<br>Our hands met gently, and our meeting sight<br>Was steady; on our senses scarce had burst<br>The faint, fresh fragrance of the new delight. . .</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343187" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I seek that clime, unknown, without a name,<br>Where first and best and last shall be the same.</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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