A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
John Donne
As virtuous men passe mildly away,
And
whisper to their soules, to goe,
Whilst some of their sad friends doe say,
The
breath goes now, and some say, no:
,
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No
teare-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
T’were prophanation of our joyes
To
tell the layetie our love.
Moving of th’earth brings harmes and feares,
Men
reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheares,
Though
greater farre, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers love
(Whose
soule is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those
things which elemented it.
But we by a love, so much refin’d,
That
our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care
lesse, eyes, lips, and hands to misse.
Our two soules therefore, which are one,
Though
I must goe, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like
gold to ayery thinnesse beate.
If they be two, they are two so
As
stiffe twin compasses are two,
Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
To
move, but doth, if th’other doe.
And though it in the center sit,
Yet
when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
And
growes erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
Like
th’other foot, obliquely runne;
Thy firmnes drawes my circle just,
And
makes me end, where I begunne.
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