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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383956" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Prisoner</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383956" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I count the dismal time by months and years<br>Since last I felt the green sward under foot,<br>And the great breath of all things summer-<br>Met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears<br>As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres<br>Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Nature's lute<br>Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,<br>A strange wild music to the prisoner's ears,<br>Dilated by the distance, till the brain<br>Grows dim with fancies which it feels too<br>While ever, with a visionary pain,<br>Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine<br>Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train<br>Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.</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=Elizabeth+Barrett+Browning">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a></strong></div>

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