| SWEET love, renew thy force; be it not said |
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| Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, |
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| Which but to-day by feeding is allay’d, |
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| To-morrow sharpen’d in his former might: |
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| So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill |
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| Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, |
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| To-morrow see again, and do not kill |
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| The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. |
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| Let this sad interim like the ocean be |
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| Which parts the shore, where two contracted new |
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| Come daily to the banks, that, when they see |
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| Return of love, more bless’d may be the view; |
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| Or call it winter, which, being full of care, |
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Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wish’d, more rare.
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