Here you will find the Poem When, Dearest, I But Think On Thee of poet Owen Felltham
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.