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