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Poem	Come, come, I faint: thy heavy stay Doubles each houre of the day: The winged hast of nimble love Makes aged Time not seeme to move: Did not the light, And then the night Instruct my sight I should believe the Sunne forgot his flight. Show not the drooping marygold Whose leaves like grieving amber fold: My longing nothing can explain But soule and body rent in twain: Did I not moane, And sigh and groane, And talk alone, I should believe my soul was gone from home. She's gone, she's gone, away she's fled, Within my breast to make her bed, In me there dwels her tenant woe, And sighs are all the breath I blow: Then come to me, One touch of thee Will make me see If loving thee I live or dead I be.
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