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
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
SIR, more than kisses, letters mingle souls,
For thus, friends absent speak. – John Donne
Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls; for, thus friends absent speak. – John Donne