Lacking my Love, I go from place to place like a young fawn that hath lost the hind; and seek each where, where last I saw her face whose image yet I carry fresh in mind.
I seek the fields with her late footing signed, I seek her bower with her late presence decker yet nor in filed nor bower I can her find; yet field and bower are full of her aspect: but, when mine eyes I thereunto direct,they idly back return to me again, and, when I hope to see their true objects, I find myself but fed with fancies vain.
Cease then, mine eyes, to seek her self to see; and let my thoughts behold her self in me.
Edmund Spense - Sonnet from Amoretti
Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed
Never to be dsquieted!
My last good night! Thou wilt not wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake;
Till age, or greif, or sickness must
Marry my boody to tthat dust
It so much loves, and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there; I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale;
And think not much of my delay;
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
Henry King - Sleep on from An Exequy
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