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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374284" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Happiness</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374284" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THIS perfect love can find no words to say.<br>What words are left, still sacred for our use,<br>That have not suffered the sad world's abuse,<br>And figure forth a gladness dimmed and gray?<br>Let us be silent still, since words convey<br>But shadowed images, wherein we lose<br>The fulness of love's light; our lips refuse<br>The fluent commonplace of yesterday.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374284" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Then shall we hear beneath the brooding wing<br>Of silence what abiding voices sleep,<br>The primal notes of nature, that outring<br>Man's little noises, warble he or weep,<br>The song the morning stars together sing,<br>The sound of deep that calleth unto deep.</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+Wharton">Edith Wharton</a></strong></div>