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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, When, Dearest, I But Think on Thee, 1659 |