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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381222" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>It Was Upon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381222" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It was upon a July evening.<br>At a stile I stood, looking along a path<br>Over the country by a second Spring<br>Drenched perfect green again. 'The lattermath<br>Will be a fine one.' So the stranger said,<br>A wandering man. Albeit I stood at rest,<br>Flushed with desire I was. The earth outspread,<br>Like meadows of the future, I possessed.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=381222" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And as an unaccomplished prophecy<br>The stranger's words, after the interval<br>Of a score years, when those fields are by me<br>Never to be recrossed, now I recall,<br>This July eve, and question, wondering,<br>What of the lattermath to this hoar Spring?</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=Edward+Thomas">Edward Thomas</a></strong></div>

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