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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529378" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dora</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529378" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">SHE knelt upon her brother's grave, <br>   My little girl of six years old-- <br>He used to be so good and brave, <br>   The sweetest lamb of all our fold; <br>He used to shout, he used to sing, <br>Of all our tribe the little king-- <br>And so unto the turf her ear she laid, <br>To hark if still in that dark place he play'd. <br>   No sound! no sound! <br>   Death's silence was profound; <br>   And horror crept <br>   Into her aching heart, and Dora wept. <br>   If this is as it ought to be, <br>   My God, I leave it unto Thee.</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+Edward+Brown">Thomas Edward Brown</a></strong></div>

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