The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley

Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667)

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Friendship in Absence.

1

When chance or cruel business parts us two,
What do our Souls I wonder do?
Whilst sleep does our dull Bodies tie
Methinks, at home they should not stay,
Content with Dreams, but boldly flie
Abroad, and meet each other half the way.

2

Sure they do meet, enjoy each other there,
And mix I know not How, nor Where.
Their friendly Lights together twine,
Though we perceive't not to be so,
Like loving Stars which oft combine,
Yet not themselves their own Conjunctions know.

3

'Twere an ill World, I'll swear, for every friend,
If Distance could their Union end
But Love it self does far advance
Above the power of Time and Space,
It scorns such outward Circumstance,
His Time's for ever, every where his Place.

4

I'am there with Thee, yet here with Me thou art,
Lodg'd in each others heart.
Miracles cease not yet in Love,
When he his mighty Power will try
Absence it self does Bounteous prove,
And strangely ev'n our Presence Multiply.

5

Pure is the flame of Friendship, and divine
Like that which in Heav'ns Sun does shine:
He in the upper ayr and sky
Does no effects of Heat bestow,
But as his beams the farther fly
He begets Warmth, Life, Beauty here below.

6

Friendship is less apparent when too nigh,
Like Objects, if they touch the Eye.
Less Meritorious then is Love,
For when we Friends together see
So much, so much Both One do prove,
That their Love then seems but Self-love to be.

7

Each day think on me, and each day I shall
For thee make Hours Canonical.
By every Wind that comes this way,
Send me at least a sigh or two,
Such and so many I'll repay
As shall themselves make Winds to get to you.

8

A thousand pretty wayes we'll think upon
To mock our Separation.
Alas, ten thousand will not do;
My heart will thus no longer stay,
No longer 'twill be kept from you,
But knocks against the Breast to get away.

9

And when no Art affords me help or ease,
I seek with verse my griefs t'appease.
Just as a Bird that flies about
And beats it self against the Cage,
Finding at last no passage out
It sits, and sings, and so orecomes its rage.