Whose life your absence clouds, and makes my time
Move blindfold in the dark ecliptic line.
Then wonder not, if my removed Sun
So low within the western tropic run;
My eyes no day in this horizon see,
Since where You are not, all is night to me.
Lastly, the anchor which enfast'ned lies
40Upon a pair of deaths, sadly applies
That Monument of Rest, which harbour must
Our ship-wrackt fortunes in a road of dust.