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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115379" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Another</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, be gone,<br>The silent night's the fittest time for moan;<br>But stay this once, unto my suit give ear,<br>And tell my griefs in either hemisphere.<br>(And if the whirling of thy wheels don't drown'd)<br>The woeful accents of my doleful sound,<br>If in thy swift carrier thou canst make stay,<br>I crave this boon, this errand by the way,<br>Commend me to the man more loved than life,<br>Show him the sorrows of his widowed wife;<br>My dumpish thoughts, my groans, my brakish tears<br>My sobs, my longing hopes, my doubting fears,<br>And if he love, how can he there abide?<br>My interest's more than all the world beside.<br>He that can tell the stars or ocean sand,<br>Or all the grass that in the meads do stand,<br>The leaves in th' woods, the hail, or drops of rain,<br>Or in a corn-field number every grain,<br>Or every mote that in the sunshine hops,<br>May count my sighs, and number all my drops.<br>Tell him the countless steps that thou dost trace,<br>That once a day thy spouse thou may'st embrace;<br>And when thou canst not treat by loving mouth,<br>Thy rays afar salute her from the south.<br>But for one month I see no day (poor soul)<br>Like those far situate under the pole,<br>Which day by day long wait for thy arise,<br>O how they joy when thou dost light the skies.<br>O Phoebus, hadst thou but thus long from thine<br>Restrained the beams of thy beloved shine,<br>At thy return, if so thou could'st or durst,<br>Behold a Chaos blacker than the first.<br>Tell him here's worse than a confused matter,<br>His little world's a fathom under water.<br>Nought but the fervor of his ardent beams<br>Hath power to dry the torrent of these streams.<br>Tell him I would say more, but cannot well,<br>Oppressed minds abruptest tales do tell.<br>Now post with double speed, mark what I say,<br>By all our loves conjure him not to stay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Bradstreet">Anne Bradstreet</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115379" data-title="Another de Anne Bradstreet" data-description="Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, be gone,/The silent night's the fittest time for moan;/But stay this once, unto my suit give ear,/And tell my griefs in either hemisphere./(And if the whirling of thy wheels don't drown'd)/The woeful accents..."></div>
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