Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
November Song
To the great archer--not to him
To meet whom flies the sun,
And who is wont his features dim
With clouds to overrun--
But to the boy be vow'd these rhymes,
Who 'mongst the roses plays,
Who hear us, and at proper times
To pierce fair hearts essays.
Through him the gloomy winter night,
Of yore so cold and drear,
Brings many a loved friend to our sight,
And many a woman dear.
Henceforward shall his image fair
Stand in yon starry skies,
And, ever mild and gracious there,
Alternate set and rise.
poem
by
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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