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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374376" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poem 15</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374376" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">RIng ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,<br>And leaue your wonted labors for this day:<br>This day is holy; doe ye write it dovvne,<br>that ye for euer it remember may.<br>This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,<br>With Barnaby the bright,<br>>From whence declining daily by degrees,<br>He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,<br>When once the Crab behind his back he sees.<br>But for this time it ill ordained was,<br>To chose the longest day in all the yeare,<br>And shortest night, when longest fitter weare.<br>Yet neuer day so long, but late would passe.<br>Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,<br>And bonefiers make all day,<br>And daunce about them, and about them sing:<br>that all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a></strong></div>

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