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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: XCII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">WRITTEN IN DISTRESS<br>We sometimes sit in darkness. I long while<br>Have sat there, in a shadow as of death.<br>My friends and comforters no longer smile,<br>And they who grudge me wrongfully my breath<br>Are strong and many. I am bowed beneath<br>A weight of trouble and unjust reproach<br>From many fools and friends of little faith.<br>The world is little worth, yet troubles much.<br>But I am comforted in this, that I,<br>Although my face is darkened to men's eyes<br>And all my life eclipsed with angry wars,<br>Now see things hidden; and I seem to spy<br>New worlds above my heaven. Night is wise<br>And joy a sun which never guessed the stars.</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=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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