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SInce I did
leaue the presence of my loue,
Many long weary dayes
I haue outworne:
and many nights, that slowly seemd
to moue,
theyr sad protract from euening vntill
morne.
For when as day the heauen doth adorne,
I
wish that night the noyous day would end:
and when
as night hath vs of light forlorne,
I wish that day
would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with
expectation spend,
and faine my griefe with chaunges
to beguile,
that further seemes his terme still to
extend,
and maketh euery minute seeme a myle.
So
sorrow still doth seeme too long to last,
but ioyous
houres doo fly away too fast.
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