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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Morning of Love</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O! The spring-time of life is the season of blooming, <br>And the morning of love is the season of joy; <br>Ere noontide and summer, with radiance consuming, <br>Look down on their beauty, to parch and destroy. <br>0! faint are the blossoms life's pathway adorning, <br>When the first magic glory of hope is withdrawn; <br>For the flowers of the spring, and the light of the morning, <br>Have no summer budding, and no second dawn. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529883" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Through meadows all sunshine, and verdure, and flowers <br>The stream of the valley in purity flies; <br>But mixed with the tides, where some proud city lowers, <br>O! where is the sweetness that dwelt on its rise ? <br>The rose withers fast-on the breast it first graces; <br>Its beauty is fled ere the day be half done:-- <br>And life is that stream which its progress defaces, <br>And love is that flower which can bloom but for one.</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+Love+Peacock">Thomas Love Peacock</a></strong></div>

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