Mecciano - In The Nursery

As virtuous men pass mildly away

And whisper to their souls, to go

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

The breath goes now, and some say, no:

So let us melt, and make no noise

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move

'Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love

Moving of th’earth brings harms and fears

Men reckon what it did and meant

But trepidation of the spheres

Though greater far, is innocent

Dull sublunary lovers' love

(Whole soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

Those things which elemented it

But we by a love, so much refined

That our selves know not what it is

Inter-assured of the mind

Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss

Our two souls therefore, which are one

Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but expansion

Like gold to aery thinnest beat

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two

Thy soul the fixed foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th’other do

And though it in the centre sit

Yet when the other far doth roam

It leans, and harkens after it

And grows erect, as that comes home

Such wilt thou be to me, who must

Like th’other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just

And makes me end, where I began