Tuesday, 18 August 2015
Where like a pillow on a bed, A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest The violet's reclining head, Sat we two, one another's best.
Our hands were firmly cèmented By a fast balm which thence did spring Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread Our eyes upon one double string.
So to engraft our hands, as yet Was all the means to make us one; And pictures in our eyes to get Was all our propagation.
As 'twixt two equal armies Fate, Suspends uncertain victory, Our souls—which to advance their state Were gone out—hung 'twixt her and me.
And whilst our souls negotiate there, We like sepulchral statues lay All day the same our postures were,And we said nothing, all the day.
John Donne The Ecstacy