The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abdie;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with twoalone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composing be recured
By those swift messengers returne'd fro thee,
Who even but now, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again, and straight grow sad.
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