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Poem by Abraham Cowley
Come, love, why stay'st thou? The night Will vanish ere wee taste delight. The moone obscures her selfe from sight, Thou absent, whose eyes give her light. Come quickly deare, be briefe as time, Or we by morne shall be o'retane, Love's Joy's thing owne as well as mine, Spend not therefore, time in vaine.
Abraham Cowley's other poems:
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