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.