Collected English Verse — Sir John Suckling. b. 1609, d. 1642 (Part 2 of 2)

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!