As virtous 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,

'Twere 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 we ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind,

  Care lesse, eyes, lips, and hnds 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 the'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 it comes home.



Such wilt thou be to mee, who must

  Like th'other foor, obliquely runne;

Thy firmnes makes my circle just,

  And makes me end, where I begunne.