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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537984" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Written In A Fit Of Illness. R. S. S.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In these sad hours, a prey to ceaseless pain,<br>While feverish pulses leap in every vein,<br>When each faint breath the last short effort seems<br>Of life just parting from my feeble limbs;<br>How wild soe'er my wandering thoughts may be,<br>Still, gentle Delia, still they turn on thee!<br>At length if, slumbering to a short repose,<br>A sweet oblivion frees me from my woes,<br>Thy form appears, thy footsteps I pursue,<br>Through springy vales, and meadows washed in dew;<br>Thy arm supports me to the fountain's brink,<br>Where by some secret power forbid to drink,<br>Gasping with thirst, I view the tempting flood<br>That flies my touch, or thickens into mud;<br>Till thine own hand immerged the goblet dips,<br>And bears it streaming to my burning lips.<br>There borne aloft on fancy's wing we fly,<br>Like souls embodied to their native sky;<br>Now every rock, each mountain, disappears;<br>And the round earth an even surface wears;<br>When lo! the force of some resistless weight,<br>Bears me straight down from that pernicious height;<br>Parting, in vain our struggling arms we close;<br>Abhorred forms, dire phantoms interpose;<br>With trembling voice on thy loved name I call;<br>And gulfs yawn ready to receive my fall.<br>From these fallacious visions of distress<br>I wake; nor are my real sorrows less.<br>Thy absence, Delia, heightens every ill,<br>And gives e'en trivial pains the power to kill.<br>Oh! wert thou near me; yet that wish forbear!<br>'Twere vain, my love,--'twere vain to wish thee near;<br>Thy tender heart would heave with anguish too,<br>And by partaking, but increase my woe.<br>Alone I'll grieve, till gloomy sorrow past,<br>Health, like the cheerful day-spring, comes at last,--<br>Comes fraught with bliss to banish every pain,<br>Hope, joy, and peace, and Delia in her train!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cowper">William Cowper</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=537984" data-title="Written In A Fit Of Illness. R. S. S. de William Cowper" data-description="In these sad hours, a prey to ceaseless pain,
While feverish pulses leap in every vein,
When each faint breath the last short effort seems
Of life just parting from my feeble limbs;
How wild soe'er my wandering thoughts may be,
Still, gentle Delia..."></div>
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