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 SONNET XXXV. Amor che meco al buon tempo ti stavi. HE VENTS HIS SORROW TO ALL WHO WITNESSED HIS FORMER FELICITY. Love, that in happier days wouldst meet me hereAlong these meads that nursed our kindred strains;And that old debt to clear which still remains,Sweet converse with the stream and me wouldst share:Ye flowers, leaves, grass, woods, grots, rills, gentle air,Low valleys, lofty hills, and sunny plains:The harbour where I stored my love-sick pains,And all my various chance, my racking care:Ye playful inmates of the greenwood shade;Ye nymphs, and ye that in the waves pursueThat life its cool and grassy bottom lends:—My days were once so fair; now dark and dreadAs death that makes them so. Thus the world throughOn each as soon as born his fate attends. Anon., Ox., 1795. On these green banks in happier days I stray'dWith Love, who whisper'd many a tender tale;And the glad waters, winding through the dale,Heard the sweet eloquence fond Love display'd.You, purpled plain, cool grot, and arching glade;Ye hills, ye streams, where plays the silken gale;[Pg 263]Ye pathless wilds, you rock-encircled valeWhich oft have beard the tender plaints I made;Ye blue-hair'd nymphs, who ceaseless revel keep,In the cool bosom of the crystal deep;Ye woodland maids who climb the mountain's brow;Ye mark'd how joy once wing'd each hour so gay;Ah, mark how sad each hour now wears away!So fate with human bliss blends human woe! Anon. 1777.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)