Absence

If not now soft airs may blow
From thy haven unto me,
If not now last Autumn's glow
Thrill delight 'twixt me and thee,
Call up Memory, oh, entreat her,
In the present there's none sweeter.

One true thought and constant only
To that pleasurable time
Me sufficeth to make lonely
All the void and mocking prime
Of this summertide, whose story
Pales in that exceeding glory.