To Cynthia On His Absence From Her Poem by Francis Kynaston

Till now I doubted whether love, or sight
Of thy dear beauties (Cynthia) did invite
My hand to write, or did beget a line,
That did expresse my heart was wholy thine:
But now I am resolv'd, 'twas not thy face,
Thy lovely shape, or any outward grace
Mov'd me to write, for if that those had been
The cause, they must have oftentimes been seen;
Else my long absence, like a spunge would blot
Those beauties, which not seen, would be forgot:
But thy rare parts of minde, which I adore,
Once seen, that's understood, they need no more;
Or new, or frequent visits to repair
My memory, or make thee a fresh fai:
No absence from thee shall have the effect,
As make me not to love, or not respect:
Visits are needles, since they onely be
Subjects of fooles discourse, or jealousie:
Then thinke me like to those are us'd to talke
When they are fast asleep, who rise and walke,
As well as if they wak'd, do all things right,
As if they us'd their eyes, or had a light:
Even so will I turne dreamer, and desire
Nor sight, nor light, but loves internall fire,
So thou (although no object of my sense)
Shalt be the subject of Loves innocence.