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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508088" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 03</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508088" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale<br> Of days departed. Time in his career<br> Arraigns not thee that the neglected year<br> Has past unheeded onward. To the vale<br> Of years thou journeyest. May the future road<br> Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend<br> Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,<br> 'Till full of days he reach the calm abode<br> Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age<br> Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold<br> The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old<br> That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage<br> Now like the monument of strength decayed<br>With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.</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=Robert+Southey">Robert Southey</a></strong></div>

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