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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Vies Manquees</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A YEAR ago we walked the wood-- <br>A year ago to-day; <br>A blackbird fluttered round her brood <br>Deep in the white-flowered may. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>We trod the happy woodland ways, <br>Where sunset streamed between <br>The hazel stems in long dusk rays, <br>And turned to gold the green. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>A thrush sang where the ferns uncurled, <br>And clouds of wind-flowers grew: <br>I missed the meaning of the world <br>From lack of love for you. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>You missed the beauty of the year, <br>And failed its self to see, <br>Through too much doubt and too much fear, <br>And too much love of me. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>This year we hear the birds' glad strain, <br>Again the sunset glows, <br>We walk the wild wet woods again, <br>Again the wind-flower blows. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>In cloudy white the falling may <br>Drifts down the scented wind, <br>And so the secret drifts away <br>Which we shall never find. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Our drifted spirits are not free <br>Spring's secret springs to touch, <br>For now you do not care for me, <br>And I love you too much.</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=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a></strong></div>

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