This Ensuing Copy the Late Printer hath been Pleased to Honour, by Mistaking It among Those of the Most Ingenious and Too Early Lost, Sir John Suckling
When, Dearest, I but think on thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted:
For beauties that from worth arise,
Are like the grace of Deities,
Still present with us, though unsighted.
Thus while I sit and sigh the day,
With all his spreading lights away,
Till nights black wings do overtake me:
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleeping men,
So they by their bright rayes awake me.
Thus absence dyes, and dying proves
No absence can consist with Loves,
That do partake of fair perfection:
Since in the darkest night they may
By their quick motion find a way
To see each other by reflection.
The waving Sea can with such floud,
Bath some high Palace that hath stood
Far from the Main up in the River:
Oh think not then but love can do
As much, for that's an Ocean too,
That flows not every day, but ever.
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted:
For beauties that from worth arise,
Are like the grace of Deities,
Still present with us, though unsighted.
Thus while I sit and sigh the day,
With all his spreading lights away,
Till nights black wings do overtake me:
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleeping men,
So they by their bright rayes awake me.
Thus absence dyes, and dying proves
No absence can consist with Loves,
That do partake of fair perfection:
Since in the darkest night they may
By their quick motion find a way
To see each other by reflection.
The waving Sea can with such floud,
Bath some high Palace that hath stood
Far from the Main up in the River:
Oh think not then but love can do
As much, for that's an Ocean too,
That flows not every day, but ever.
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