So am I as the rich, whose blessed key,
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming in that long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special-blest,
By new unfolding his imprison’d pride.
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.
In plain English
I'm like a wealthy person with a locked chest of treasures. He doesn't open it constantly — that would wear out the pleasure of it. So feasts are rare and ceremonial, spaced out across the year like precious gems set far apart on a necklace.
Time works the same way with you. It keeps you hidden away like a treasure in a chest, or like an elegant robe folded in a wardrobe. When we're apart, it makes our moments together feel brand new and radiant, as if you're being unfolded fresh each time.
You're blessed because your worth means that having you feels like a triumph, and missing you keeps hope alive. The distance and scarcity make you precious.
