by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
      , HOW thy worth with manners may I sing
      When thou art all the better part of me?
      What can mine own praises to mine own self bring,
      And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
      Even for this let us divided live
      And our dear love lose name of single one,
      That by this separation I may give
      That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.
      O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove
      Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
      To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
      Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
      And that thou teachest how to make one twain
      By praising him here who doth hence remain!