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 night’s black wings do overtake me:
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleeping men,
So they by their bright rays awake me.
Thus absence dies, 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 flood
Bathe 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.
(Owen Felltham)
More Poetry from Owen Felltham:
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Light Poems, Fairness Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Perfection Poems, Present Poems, Contemplation PoemsBased on Keywords: unsighted
- I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill (John Keats Poems)
- The Links O' Forth : Or, A Parting Peep At The Carse O' Sterling (Hector MacNeill Poems)
- The Sydney International Exhibition (Henry Kendall Poems)
- The General Resurrection (Mary Ann Carter Poems)
- An Heroic Epistle of Hudibras To His Lady (Samuel Butler Poems)