<div class="moby">
  <h2>Title Loomings</h2>
  <p>
    Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having
    little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on
    shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the
    world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the
    circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever
    it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself
    involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of
    every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper
    hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from
    deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's
    hats off- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This
    is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato
    throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing
    surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree,
    some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean
    with me.
  </p>

  <p>
    There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as
    Indian isles by coral reefs- commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and
    left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery,
    where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few
    hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers
    there.
  </p>
</div>

<div id="content">
  <h1>CSS TEMPLATES using border radius</h1>
  <div>Blue</div>
  <div><span class="text">TRIANGLE</span></div>
  <div>Red</div>
</div>