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XLV.
The
other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with
thee, wherever I abide;
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 two alone
Sinks down to
death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's
composition be recured
By those swift messengers
return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again,
assured
Of thy fair health, 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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