Page:The works of Anne Bradstreet in prose and verse.djvu/481

 Letters to her Husband. 395

So many Heps, head from the heart to fever

If but a neck, foon flioiild we be together:

I like the earth this feafon, mourn in black,

My Sun is gone fo far in's Zodiack,

Whom whilfl; I joy'd, nor florms, nor frotls I felt,

His warmth fuch fric{id colds did caufe to melt.

My chilled limbs now nummed lye forlorn;

Return, return fweet Sol from Capricorn ;

In this dead time, alas, what can I more [241]

Then view thofe fruits which through thy heat I bore?

Which fweet contentment yield me for a fpace,

True livinor Pictures of their Fathers face.

ftrange effe6l! now thou art SoutJnuard gone,

1 weary grow, the tedious day fo long;

But when thou NortJnvard to me flialt return, I wifh my Sun may never fet, but burn Within the Cancer of m}- glowing breaft, The welcome houfe of him my deareft gueft. Where ever, ever ftay, and go not thence, Till natures fad decree fhall call thee hence; Flelh of thy flefli, bone of thy bone, I here, thou there, yet both but one.

A. B.

Another.

Ph<xbus make hafhe, the day's too long, be gone. The filent night's the fitteft time for moan; But ftay this once, unto my fuit give ear. And tell my griefs in either Hemifphere:

�� �