Sun, Begone

WHEREFORE peep’st thou, envious Day?

We can kiss without thee;

Lovers hate that golden ray

Which thou bear’st about thee.

Go, and give them light that sorrow,

Or the sailor flying:

Our embraces need no morrow,

Nor our kisses eyeing.

We shall curse thy envious eye

For thy soon betraying;

Or condemn thee for a spy,

If thou find’st us playing.

Get thee gone, and lend thy flashes

Where there’s need of lending:

Our affections are not ashes,

Nor our pleasures ending.

Were we cold or wither’d here,

We could stay thee by us;

Or but one another’s sphere,

Then thou shouldst not fly us.

We are young, thou spoilst our pleasure;

Go to sea and slumber;

Darkness only lends us leisure

Our stolen joys to number.