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,

            (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

            Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined

            That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assurèd 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 an expansion,

            Like gold to airy thinness 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 center sit,

             Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

            And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must

            Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;

They firmness makes my circle just,

            And makes me end where I begun.