The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/The Distance
THE DISTANCE.
I've followed thee a year, at least,And never stopp'd myself to rest;But yet can thee o'ertake no moreThan this day can the day that went before.
In this our fortunes equal proveTo stars, which govern them above;Our stars, that move for ever round,With the same distance still betwixt them found.
In vain, alas! in vain I striveThe wheel of Fate faster to drive;Since, if around it swiftlier fly,She in it mends her pace as much as I.
Hearts by Love strangely shuffled are,That there can never meet a pair!Tamelier than worms are lovers slain;The wounded heart ne'er turns, to wound again.