Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
The Lyttel Boy
Sometime there ben a lyttel boy
That wolde not renne and play,
And helpless like that little tyke
Ben allwais in the way.
"Goe, make you merrie with the rest,"
His weary moder cried;
But with a frown he catcht her gown
And hong untill her side.
That boy did love his moder well,
Which spake him faire, I ween;
He loved to stand and hold her hand
And ken her with his een;
His cosset bleated in the croft,
His toys unheeded lay,--
He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe,
Ben allwais in the way.
Godde loveth children and doth gird
His throne with soche as these,
And He doth smile in plaisaunce while
They cluster at His knees;
And sometime, when He looked on earth
And watched the bairns at play,
He kenned with joy a lyttel boy
Ben allwais in the way.
And then a moder felt her heart
How that it ben to-torne,--
She kissed eche day till she ben gray
The shoon he used to worn;
No bairn let hold untill her gown,
Nor played upon the floore,--
Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy
Ben in the way no more!
poem
by
Eugene Field
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black