trouble1208

Den har dikten hittade jag i en poesi bok som min syster gav mej i julklapp for nagra ar sedan. Det e lite svart att forsta den om man inte satter sig ner och tanker igenom ordentligt, sa det e upp till er om ni pallar det eller inte. :)
Jag tycker bara att orden sager sa bra, att ibland nar de vi alskar dor, kanske det e det basta som kan handa. I'll leave it up to you to decide.

Robert Herrick

To Music, to becalm his Fever

Charm me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers,
That, being ravish'd, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
   Ease my sick head,
       And make my bed,
Thou power that canst sever
From me this ill,
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill
My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire
Into a gentle licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
    Then make me weep
My pains asleep;
And give me such reposes
That I, poor I,
May think thereby
I live and die
'Mongst roses.

Fall on me like the silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
 A baptim o'er the flowers.
Melt, melt my pains
With thy soft strains;
That, having ease me given,
With full delight
leave this light,
And take my flight
For Heaven.