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A Poem Written by John Donne

I wonder by my troth,what Thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not wean'd till then?
But Suck'd on Country pleasures, Childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so, but this; all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty did I see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And Now Good Morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For Love all love of other sights controls
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discovers to new world's have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally;
If two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

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