Let me pour forth <br />My tears before thy face, whil'st 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 divers shore. <br />On a round ball <br />A workman that hath copies by, can lay <br />An Europe, Afrique, 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 mixt with mine do overflow <br />This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so. <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 />Who e'r 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-2/
