Absence, the noble truce
Of Cupids warre:
Where though desires want use,
They honoured are.
Thou art the just protection,
Of prodigall affection,
Have thou the praise;
When bankrupt Cupid braveth,
Thy mines his credit saveth,
With sweet delayes.

Of wounds which presence makes
With Beauties shot,
Absence the anguish slakes,
But healeth not:
Absence records the Stories,
Wherein Desire glories,
Although she burne;
She cherisheth the spirits
Where Constancy inherits
And Passions mourne.

Absence, like dainty Clouds,
On glorious-bright,
Natures weake senses shrowds,
From harming light.
Absence maintaines the treasure
Of pleasure unto pleasure,
Spring with praise;
Absence doth nurse the fire,
Which starves and feeds desire
With sweet delayes.

Presence to every part
Of Beauty tyes,
Where Wonder rules the Heart
There Pleasure dyes:
Presence plagues minde and senses
With modesties defences,
Absence is free;
Thoughts doe in absence venter
On Cupids shadowed center,
They winke and see.

But Thought be not so brave,
With absent joy;
For you with that you have
Your selfe destroy:
The absence which you glory,
Is that which makes you sory,
And burne in vaine:
For Thought is not the weapon,
Wherewith thoughts-ease men cheapen,
Absence is paine.

—

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke (1554-1628)

Fulke Greville, Selected Poems; Faber & Faber, London; ISBN 057108740X