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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=456066" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Passing Year</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=456066" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">No breath of wind stirs in the painted leaves, <br>The meadows are as stirless as the sky, <br>Like a Saint's halo golden vapours lie <br>Above the restful valley's garnered sheaves. <br>The journeying Sun, like one who fondly grieves, <br>Above the hills seems loitering with a sigh, <br>As loth to bid the fruitful earth good-bye, <br>On these hushed hours of luminous autumn eves. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=456066" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">There is a pathos in his softening glow, <br>Which like a benediction seems to hover <br>O'er the tranced earth, ere he must sink below <br>And leave her widowed of her radiant Lover, <br>A frost-bound sleeper in a shroud of snow, <br>While winter winds howl a wild dirge above her.</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=Mathilde+Blind">Mathilde Blind</a></strong></div>

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