Rime 08

#listen-container { display: inline-block; padding: 9px 15px; background: #10578E; cursor: pointer; transition: all 0.3s ease; border: 1px solid #1791ef; border-bottom: 1px solid #156caf; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; } #listen-container:hover { background: #2f9cf1; } #listen-container a { color: #fff; } .listen-container-svg { fill: #fff; height: 20px; width: 22px; margin-right: 5px; } #text-player { margin-right: 0; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; top: -3px; position: relative; float: none; font-family: "Roboto","sans-serif"; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; } Listen to this Poem Your browser does not support the audio element. If I, who am an abject, low-born woman, Can bear within me such lofty fire, Why should I not possess at least a little Poetic power to tell it to the world? If Love, with such a new unheard-of flint Lifted me up where I could never climb, Why cannot I, in an unusual way, Make pain and pen be equal in myself? If Love cannot do this by force of nature, Perhaps as by a miracle he may Passing and bursting every common measure. How that can be, I cannot well explain But yet I feel, because of my great fortune, My heart imprinted with a strong new style.