The Good Morn

   I can't think, by my troth, what you and I
     Did, till we loved.  Were we not weaned till then,
   But sucked our out-of-Town wet nurse and cried?
     Or snored we with those long slept youths in den?
   'Twas so; but this, all joys a mind's froth be.
   If there was some nice wench that I did see,
 Whom I did want, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

   And now give good morn to our just-waked souls,
     Which watch not each of each from fear;
   For love, all love of all sights does have hold,
     And makes one small room all the wheres.
   Let those who searched seas to new worlds have gone,
   Let maps to more lands, worlds on worlds have shown,
 Let us take hold one world -- each has one, and is one.

   My face in your eye, yours in mine see here,
     And true plain hearts do in each face so rest;
   Where can we find as good two halves a sphere,
     That's sans sharp north, sans dropped-off west?
   What dies, was not mixed from parts of like size;
   If our two loves be one, or you and I
 Do love so like that none slack off, then none can die.

                                -- John Donne

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