When I died last, and, Dear, I die as often as from thee I go though it be but an hour ago and lovers hours be full eternity. – John Donne
No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace,
As I have seen in one autumnal face. – John Donne
Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. – John Donne
Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. – John Donne