Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I LOVE it, I love it ; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair ? I've treasured it long as a sainted prize ; I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs. ' Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart ; Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell ? -- a mother sat there ; And a sacred thing is that old Arm-chair. In Childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear ; And gentle words that mother would give ; To fit me to die, and teach me to live. She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and God for my guide ; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer ; As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair. I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey : And I almost worshipped her when she smiled, And turned from her Bible, to bless her child. Years rolled on; but the last one sped-- My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled : I learnt how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair. 'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow : 'Twas there she nursed me ; 'twas there she died : And Memory flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek ; But I love it, I love it ; and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)