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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419768" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Apparation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419768" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead<br> And that thou think'st thee free<br> From all solicitation from me,<br> Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,<br> And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see;<br> Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,<br> And he, whose thou art then, being tir'd before,<br> Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think<br> Thou call'st for more,<br> And in false sleep will from thee shrink;<br> And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou<br> Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie<br> A verier ghost than I.<br> What I will say, I will not tell thee now,<br> Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,<br> I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent,<br> Than by my threat'nings rest still innocent.</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=John+Donne">John Donne</a></strong></div>

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