Classic Poem

O absent presence, Stella is not here;
False flatt'ring hope, that with so fair a face
Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place
Stella , I say my Stella , should appear.
What say'st thou now, where is that dainty cheer
Thou told'st mine eyes should help their famished case?
But thou art gone, now that self-felt disgrace
Doth make me most to wish thy comfort near.
But here I do store of fair ladies meet,
Who may with charm of conversation sweet
Make in my heavy mould new thoughts to grow:
Sure they prevail as much with me, as he
That bade his friend, but then new-maimed, to be
Merry with him, and not think of his woe.