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.
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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Brightly the sun of summer shone, Green fields and waving woods upon, And soft winds wandered by; Above, a sky of purest blue, Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, Allured the gazer's eye. But what were all these charms to me, When one sweet breath of memory Came gently wafting by? I closed my eyes against the day, And called my willing soul away, From earth, and air, and sky; That I might simply fancy there One little flower -- a primrose fair, Just opening into sight; As in the days of infancy, An opening primrose seemed to me A source of strange delight. Sweet Memory! ever smile on me; Nature's chief beauties spring from thee, Oh, still thy tribute bring! Still make the golden crocus shine Among the flowers the most divine, The glory of the spring. Still in the wall-flower's fragrance dwell; And hover round the slight blue bell, My childhood's darling flower. Smile on the little daisy still, The buttercup's bright goblet fill With all thy former power. For ever hang thy dreamy spell Round mountain star and heather bell, And do not pass away From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow, And whisper when the wild winds blow, Or rippling waters play. Is childhood, then, so all divine? Or Memory, is the glory thine, That haloes thus the past? Not all divine; its pangs of grief, (Although, perchance, their stay be brief,) Are bitter while they last. Nor is the glory all thine own, For on our earliest joys alone That holy light is cast. With such a ray, no spell of thine Can make our later pleasures shine, Though long ago they passed.
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