Let me pour forth <br /> My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here, <br /> For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear, <br /> And by this mintage they are something worth, <br /> For thus they be <br /> Pregnant of thee; <br /> Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more, <br /> When a tear falls, that thou falls which it bore, <br /> So thou and I are nothing then, when on a diverse shore. <br /> <br /> On a round ball <br /> A workman that hath copies by, can lay <br /> An Europe, Afric, and an Asia, <br /> And quickly make that, which was nothing, all; <br /> So doth each tear <br /> Which thee doth wear, <br /> A globe, yea world, by that impression grow, <br /> Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow <br /> This world; by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so. <br /> <br /> O more than moon, <br /> Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere, <br /> Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear <br /> To teach the sea what it may do too soon; <br /> Let not the wind <br /> Example find, <br /> To do me more harm than it purposeth; <br /> Since thou and I sigh one another's breath, <br /> Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-valediction-of-weeping/
