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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=37015" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Nocturnal Upon S. Lucy's Day, Being the Shortest Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,<br>Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;<br> The sun is spent, and now his flasks<br> Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;<br>  The world's whole sap is sunk;<br>The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,<br>Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,<br>Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,<br>Compared with me, who am their epitaph.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Study me then, you who shall lovers be<br>At the next world, that is, at the next spring;<br> For I am every dead thing,<br> In whom Love wrought new alchemy.<br>  For his art did express<br>A quintessence even from nothingness,<br>From dull privations, and lean emptiness;<br>He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot<br>Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All others, from all things, draw all that's good,<br>Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;<br> I, by Love's limbec, am the grave<br> Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood<br>  Have we two wept, and so<br>Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow,<br>To be two chaoses, when we did show<br>Care to aught else; and often absences<br>Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—<br>Of the first nothing the elixir grown;<br> Were I a man, that I were one<br> I needs must know; I should prefer,<br>  If I were any beast,<br>Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,<br>And love; all, all some properties invest.<br>If I an ordinary nothing were,<br>As shadow, a light, and body must be here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I am none; nor will my sun renew.<br>You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun<br> At this time to the Goat is run<br> To fetch new lust, and give it you,<br>  Enjoy your summer all,<br>Since she enjoys her long night's festival.<br>Let me prepare towards her, and let me call<br>This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this<br>Both the year's and the day's deep midnight is.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Donne">John Donne</a><div class=q>
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