Goe and count her better houres; <br />They more happie are than ours. <br />The day that gives her any blisse <br />Make it as long againe as tis: <br />The houre shee smiles in lett it bee <br />By thy art increas'd to three: <br />But if shee frowne on thee or mee <br />Know night is made by her not thee: <br />Bee swift in such an houre, and soon <br />Make it night though it bee noone: <br />Obey her tymes, who is the free <br />Fayre sun that governes thee and mee<br /><br />William Strode<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-watch-sent-home-to-mrs-eliz-king-wrapt-in-thei/
