Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore My love was infinite, if spring makes it more.

And Jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire, But to supplant, and with gainful intent; God clothed Himself in vile man’s flesh, that so He might be weak enough to suffer woe.

I think it mercy if Thou wilt forget.

I long to talk with some old lover’s ghost Who died before the god of Love was born.

Love is a growing, or full constant light, And his first minute, after noon, is night.

I wonder, by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov'd.

O! I shall soon despair, when I shall see That Thou lovest mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.

Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat, And when he hath the kernel eat, Who doth not fling away the shell?

As virtuous men pass mildly away And whisper to their souls, to goe, While some of their friends doe say, The breath goes now, and some say, no: So let us melt, and make no noise...

I joy, that in these straits I see my west;

Thou, sun, art half as happy as we.

It sucked me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call, for as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

...but come bad chance And wee joyne to it our strength And wee teach it art and length It selfe o'er us to advance.

But, O alas! so long, so far, Our bodies why do we forbear?

If that be simply perfectest Which can by no way be expresst But negatives, my love is so. To All, which all love, I say no. Negative Love

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay...

Stay, O sweet, and do not rise; The light that shines comes from thine eyes; The day breaks not, it is my heart, Because that you and I must part.

Hee that hath all can have no more

No man is an island.

Thy firmness makes my circle just, and makes me end where I begun.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.

At one blood labors to beget, Spirits as like as it can, Because such figures need to knit, that subtle knot which makes us man.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.

All measure, and all language, I should pass, Should I tell what a miracle she was.

Doubt wisely; in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is.

Any man's death diminishes me, for I am involved with mankind.

My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.

Poor heretics there be, Which think to establish dangerous constancy, But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true, You shall be true to them, who are false to you.

Death, thou shalt die.

Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, then idiot with none.

Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfill.

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love

He that desires to print a book, should much more desire, to be a book.

This is joy's bonfire, then, where love's strong arts Make of so noble individual parts One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts.

I fix mine eye on thine, and there Pity my picture burning in thine eye...

Only our love hath no decay; This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, Running it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.

Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.

No man is an island, entire of itself.

And to 'scape stormy days, I choose an everlasting night.

Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.

Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.

Other men's crosses are not my crosses.