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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529165" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>L'Eau Dormante</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529165" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Curled up and sitting on her feet. <br>Within the window's deep embrasure, <br>Is Lydia; and across the street, <br>A lad, with eyes of roguish azure, <br>Watches her buried in her book. <br>In vain he tries to win a look, <br>And from the trellis over there <br>Blows sundry kisses through the air, <br>Which miss the mark, and fall unseen, <br>Uncared for. Lydia is thirteen.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529165" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My lad, if you, without abuse, <br>Will take advise from one who's wiser, <br>And put his wisdom to more use <br>Than ever yet did your adviser; <br>If you will let, as none will do, <br>Another's heartbreak serve for two, <br>You'll have a care, some four years hence, <br>How you lounge there by yonder fence <br>And blow those kisses through that screen-- <br>For Lydia will be seventeen.</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=Thomas+Bailey+Aldrich">Thomas Bailey Aldrich</a></strong></div>

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