Sir John Suckling

When, Dearest, I but think of Thee

WHEN, dearest, I but think of 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, tho' unsighted.

Thus while I sit and sigh the day
With all his borrow'd lights away,
    Till night's black wings do overtake me,
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleepy men,
        So they by their bright rays awake me.

Thus absence dies, and dying proves
No absence can subsist with loves
    That do partake of fair perfection:
Since in the darkest night they may
By love's quick motion find a way
    To see each other by reflection.

The waving sea can with each flood
Bathe some high promont that hath stood
    Far from the main up in the river:
O think not then but love can do
As much! for that 's an ocean too,
        Which flows not every day, but ever!

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About the poet
Sir John Suckling
By the same poet
A Doubt of Martyrdom
The Constant Lover
Why so Pale and Wan?
Related books
Sir John Suckling at amazon.com

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