O absent presence, Stella is not here;
    False flattering hope, that with so fair a face
    Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place
Stella, I say my Stella, should appear.
What sayst thou now? Where is that dainty cheer
    Thou toldst 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.
Astrophil and Stella 106: O absent presence, Stella is not here