Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 106

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 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.