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I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I did
till we lov'd
Love, all
alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the
rage of time
Twice or thrice had I loved thee, Before I knew
thy face or name; So in a shapeless flame angels affect us oft,
and worshipped be; Still when to where thou wert, I came.
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see, But since my soul, whose
child love is, Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is Love must not be, but take a
body too; And therefore what thou wert, and who, I bid Love ask,
and now. That it assume thy body, I allow, and fix itself in
the lip, eye , and brow
Love's
mysteries in soul's do grow. But yet the body is his book
My face in thine eyes, 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 mixed equally; If our two
loves be one, or thou and I. Love so alike, that none do
slacken, none can die.
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