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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345147" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Love Letter to Her Husband</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, begone, <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 do n't drown'd <br>The woful accents of my doleful sound), <br>If in thy swift career thou canst make stay, <br>I crave this boon, this errand by the way: <br>Commend me to the man more lov'd than life, <br>Show him the sorrows of his widow'd wife, <br>My dumpish thoughts, my groans, my brackish 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 cornfield number every grain, <br>Or every mote that in the sunshine hops, <br>May court 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 mayst 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>Restrain'd the beams of thy beloved shine, <br>At thy return, if so thou couldst 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>Naught 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>Opressed minds abrupted 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=345147" data-title="A Love Letter to Her Husband de Anne Bradstreet" data-description="Phoebus make haste, the day's too long, begone, 
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 do n't drown'd 
The woful acce..."></div>
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