But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour; And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies.

I may command where I adore.