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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538315" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To M.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538315" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">IF in the summer of thy bright regard <br> For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live <br>I ask no more, nor think my fate too hard <br> If other eyes but wintry looks should give; <br>Nor will I grieve though what I here have writ <br> O’er burdened Time should drop among the ways, <br>And to the unremembering dust commit <br> Beyond the praise and blame of other days: <br>The song doth pass, but I who sing, remain, <br> I pluck from Death’s own heart a life more deep, <br>And as the Spring, that dies not, in her train <br> Doth scatter blossoms for the Winds to reap, <br>So I, immortal, as I fare along, <br>Will strew my path with mortal flowers of song.</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=William+Gay">William Gay</a></strong></div>

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