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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537422" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Slow Movement</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537422" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">All those treasures that lie in the little bolted box whose tiny space is <br>Mightier than the room of the stars, being secret and filled with dreams: <br>All those treasures—I hold them in my hand—are straining continually <br>Against the sides and the lid and the two ends of the little box in which I guard them; <br>Crying that there is no sun come among them this great while and that they weary of shining; <br>Calling me to fold back the lid of the little box and to give them sleep finally. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537422" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But the night I am hiding from them, dear friend, is far more desperate than their night! <br>And so I take pity on them and pretend to have lost the key to the little house of my treasures; <br>For they would die of weariness were I to open it, and not be merely faint and sleepy <br>As they are now.</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=William+Carlos+Williams">William Carlos Williams</a></strong></div>

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