Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=474034" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Field Of Mortality</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=474034" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The Field of Mortality </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=474034" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">On a field, not far from here, I see millions of lit candles in long rows, <br>but only at night; in daylight it is a potato patch. A man, you may call <br>him god if you like, walks among the candles every so often he stops <br>and with his thumb and index finger snuffs out light; the skin on his <br>fingers are corned from this arduous work. Behind him new candles <br>spring up, sometimes he turns and go back waste some of them too.<br>He is heading for the part where the candles have been burned out, <br>only the wick flickers. He uses he thumb to bump them off; a spiral of <br>grey smoke in still air. He is old as time, sometimes he misses candles <br>that keep on burning, although they have no wick. As dawn begins, <br>behind the easterly mountain, the field of mortality turns into a potato <br>patch again, where an old man is harvesting spuds.</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=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a></strong></div>