John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
ABSENT from thee, I languish still;
Then ask me not, When I return?
The straying fool twill
To wish all day, all night to mourn.
Dear, from thine arms then let me fly,
That my fantastic mind may prove
The torments it deserves
That tears my fixd heart from my love.
When, wearied with a world of woe,
To thy safe bosom I retire,
Where love, and peace, and
truth does flow,
May I contented there expire!
Lest, once more wandering from that heaven,
I fall on some base heart unblest;
thee, false, unforgiven
And lose my everlasting rest.
ALL my past life is mine no more;
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moments all my lot;
that, as fast as it is got,
Phillis, is only thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows;
If I by miracle can be
long minute true to thee,
Tis all that Heaven allows.
I CANNOT change as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor swain that sighs
For you alone was born.
No, Phillis, no; your heart to move
A surer way Ill try;
And, to revenge my
Will still love on and die.
When killd with grief Amyntas lies,
And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied
The tears that vainly fall
That welcome hour, that ends this smart,
Will then begin your pain;
such a faithful tender heart
Can never break in vain.
WHY dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
sunshine of the Suns enlivening eye?
Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my lights in thee;
I live, I
move, and by thy beams I see.
Thou art my lifeif thou but turn away
My lifes a thousand deaths. Thou art my way
thee, Love, I travel not but stray.
My light thou artwithout thy glorious sight
My eyes are darkend with eternal night.
thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my
life; if thou withdrawst, I die.
My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
to that light?and whos that light but thee?
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