BLEST are your north parts, for all this long time <br />My sun is with you ; cold and dark's our clime ; <br />Heaven's sun, which stay'd so long from us this year, <br />Stay'd in your north, I think, for she was there ; <br />And hither by kind nature drawn from thence, <br />Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence. <br />Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay, <br />Think this no south, no summer, nor no day. <br />With thee my kind and unkind heart is run ; <br />There sacrifice it to that beauteous sun. <br />So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts, <br />As suddenly as lard, fat thy lean beasts ; <br />So may thy woods oft poll'd, yet ever wear <br />A green, and—when thee list—a golden hair ; <br />So may all thy sheep bring forth twins ; and so <br />In chase and race may thy horse all out-go ; <br />So may thy love and courage ne'er be cold ; <br />Thy son ne'er ward ; thy loved wife ne'er seem old. <br />But mayst thou wish great things, and them attain, <br />As thou tell'st her, and none but her, my pain.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-mr-i-p/
