Untitled VIII

#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. While I was roaming the wide world I came upon nations in graves: The mighty and the meek lay there Among them awe-inspiring braves. Some were old men, some young heroes: Viziers, teachers-everyone goes; Their days now caught in the night's throes, Here they lie with death's other slaves. The path they took was always straight; Pen in hand, they knew how to write; Their tongues, like nightingales, sang right; Buried they lie-sages and braves. Mighty and low, everyone cried When these heroic leaders died; A broken bow at each graveside Gallant men fell like stray arrows. Their horses unfurled a dust cloud, Drummers marched by them, beating loud, Their might had done land and sea proud; Noble lords now lie in death's caves