To Lucasta

Richard Lovelace (1618–1658)

IF to be absent were to be

Away from thee;

Or that, when I am gone,

You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave

Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.

But I ’ll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,

Or pay a tear to ’suage

The foaming blue-god’s rage;

For, whether he will let me pass

Or no, I ’m still as happy as I was.

Though seas and lands be ’twixt us both,

Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls:

Above the highest sphere we meet,

Unseen, unknown; and greet as angels greet.

So, then, we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive i’ the skies,

If thus our lips and eyes

Can speak like spirits unconfined

In heaven,—their earthly bodies left behind.