When, dearest, I but think on thee, <br /> Methinks all things that lovely be <br /> Are present, and my soul delighted: <br /> For beauties that from worth arise <br /> Are like the grace of deities, <br /> Still present with us, though unsighted. <br /> <br /> Thus while I sit and sigh the day <br /> With all his spreading lights away, <br /> Till night's black wings do overtake me: <br /> Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, <br /> As sudden lights do sleeping men, <br /> So they by their bright rays awake me. <br /> <br /> Thus absence dies, and dying proves <br /> No absence can consist with loves <br /> That do partake of fair perfection: <br /> Since in the darkest night they may <br /> By their quick motion find a way <br /> To see each other by reflection. <br /> <br /> The waving sea can with such flood <br /> Bathe some high palace that hath stood <br /> Far from the main up in the river: <br /> Oh think not then but love can do <br /> As much, for that's an ocean too, <br /> That flows not every day, but ever.<br /><br />Owen Felltham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-dearest-i-but-think-on-thee/
