A Valediction: of weeping
John Donne
1572 to 1631
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Let me powre forth
My teares before thy face, whil'st I stay here,
For thy face coines them, and stampe they beare,
And by this Mintage they are worth,
For thus they bee
Pregnant of thee;
of much griefe they are, emblemes of more,
When teare falls, that thou falst which it bore,
So and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.
On a round ball
A workeman that hath by, can lay
An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,
quickly make that, which was nothing, All,
So doth teare,
Which thee doth weare,
A globe, yea by that impression grow,
Till thy teares mixt with doe overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, heaven dissolved so.
O more then Moone,
Draw not seas to drowne me in thy spheare,
Weepe not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare
To teach sea, what it may doe too soone;
Let not winde
Example finde,
To doe me more harme, then purposeth;
Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath,
Who e'r sighes most, is cruellest, and hasts the death.