She's dead; and all which die <br />To their first elements resolve; <br />And we were mutual elements to us, <br />And made of one another. <br />My body then doth hers involve, <br />And those things whereof I consist hereby <br />In me abundant grow, and burdenous, <br />And nourish not, but smother. <br />My fire of passion, sighs of air, <br />Water of tears, and earthly sad despair, <br />Which my materials be, <br />But near worn out by love's security, <br />She, to my loss, doth by her death repair, <br />And I might live long wretched so <br />But that my fire doth with my fuel grow. <br />Now as those Active Kings <br />Whose foreign conquest treasure brings, <br />Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break: <br />This (which I am amazed that I can speak) <br />This death hath with my store <br />My use increased. <br />And so my soul more earnestly released <br />Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before <br />A latter bullet may o'ertake, the powder being more.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dissolution/
