| If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
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| Injurious distance should not stop my way;
|
| For then despite of space I would be brought,
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| From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
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| No matter then although my foot did stand
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| Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
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| For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
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| As soon as think the place where he would be.
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| But ah! |
| thought kills me that I am not thought,
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| To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
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| But that so much of earth and water wrought
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| I must attend time’s leisure with my moan,
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| Receiving nought by elements so slow
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| But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe.
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| The other two, slight air and purging fire,
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| Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
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| The first my thought, the other my desire,
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| These present-absent with swift motion slide.
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| For when these quicker elements are gone
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| In tender embassy of love to thee,
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| My life, being made of four, with two alone
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| Sinks down to death, oppress’d with melancholy;
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| Until life’s composition be recured
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| By those swift messengers return’d from thee,
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| Who even but now come back again, assured
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| Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
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| This told, I joy; |
| but then no longer glad,
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| I send them back again and straight grow sad. |