The Good Morrow

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I

Did, till we loved; were we not weaned till then,

But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?

Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den?

’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desired, and got,’twas but a dream of thee.

And now good morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fear;

For love, all love of other sights controls,

And makes one little room, an everywhere.

Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,

Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,

Let us possess our world; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,

And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;

Where can we find two better hemispheres,

Without sharp North, without declining West?

Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;

If our two loves be one; or thou and I

Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.

Poem by John Donne