As loving hind that (hartless) wants her deer, <br />Scuds through the woods and fern with hark'ning ear, <br />Perplext, in every bush and nook doth pry, <br />Her dearest deer, might answer ear or eye; <br />So doth my anxious soul, which now doth miss <br />A dearer dear (far dearer heart) than this. <br />Still wait with doubts, and hopes, and failing eye, <br />His voice to hear or person to descry. <br />Or as the pensive dove doth all alone <br />(On withered bough) most uncouthly bemoan <br />The absence of her love and loving mate, <br />Whose loss hath made her so unfortunate, <br />Ev'n thus do I, with many a deep sad groan, <br />Bewail my turtle true, who now is gone, <br />His presence and his safe return still woos, <br />With thousand doleful sighs and mournful coos. <br />Or as the loving mullet, that true fish, <br />Her fellow lost, nor joy nor life do wish, <br />But launches on that shore, there for to die, <br />Where she her captive husband doth espy. <br />Mine being gone, I lead a joyless life, <br />I have a loving peer, yet seem no wife; <br />But worst of all, to him can't steer my course, <br />I here, he there, alas, both kept by force. <br />Return my dear, my joy, my only love, <br />Unto thy hind, thy mullet, and thy dove, <br />Who neither joys in pasture, house, nor streams, <br />The substance gone, O me, these are but dreams. <br />Together at one tree, oh let us browse, <br />And like two turtles roost within one house, <br />And like the mullets in one river glide, <br />Let's still remain but one, till death divide. <br /> Thy loving love and dearest dear, <br /> At home, abroad, and everywhere<br /><br />Anne Bradstreet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/another-ii/
