ABSENCE, the noble truce
Of Cupid's war,
Where though desires want use,
They honor'd are,
Thou art the just protection
Of prodigal affection;
Have thou the praise.
When bankrupt Cupid braveth
Thy mines, his credit saveth
With sweet delays.

Of wounds which presence makes
With beauty's shot,
Absence the anguish slakes,
But healeth not;
Absence records the stories
Wherein desire glories;
Although she burn,
She cherisheth the spirits
Where constancy inherits
And passions mourn.

Absence, like dainty clouds
On glorious-bright,
Nature's weak senses shrouds
From harming light.
Absence maintains the treasure
Of pleasure unto pleasure,
Sparing with praise;
Absence doth nurse the fir
Which starves and feeds desire
With sweet delays.

Presence to every part
Of beauty ties;
Where wonder rules the heart
There pleasure dies.
Presence plagues the mind and senses
With modesty's defenses;
Absence is free.
Thoughts do in absence venter
On Cupid's shadow'd center;
They wink and see.

But thoughts be not so brave
With absent joy;
For you, with that you have,
Your self destroy.
The absence which you glory
Is that which makes you sorry
And burn in vain,
For thought is not the weapon,
Wherewith thoughts'-ease men cheapen;
Absence is pain.