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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538472" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hounds!</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538472" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">There is music on disc and on wireless, <br>Band-music, dance-tunes for the tireless, <br>Sweet music from day unto day; <br>But the music a man will remember <br>Shakes down the last leaves of November, <br>And speeds the wild geese in December, <br>And greets the first oak-bud in May.<br>What string with such beauty can tremble? <br>What bugle such raptures assemble? <br>What trumpet can sound such a call? <br>Is there ever a melody nearer <br>The quick-beating heart of the hearer? <br>Is there ever a tune that is dearer <br>As it chooses a dance for us all? <br>No song is so sweet in the setting, <br>No lilt so forbids all forgetting <br>Or lingers so long by the way; <br>When the shadows of night gather o’er us, <br>And the scarlet has faded before us, <br>The ring of that ravishing chorus <br>Dies not with the death of the day.</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+Henry+Ogilvie">William Henry Ogilvie</a></strong></div>

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