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John Donne - Love`s Growth
Work rating: Medium

I scarce believe my love to be so pure 
                As I had thought it was, 
                Because it doth endure 
Vicissitude, and season, as the grass ; 
Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore 
My love was infinite, if spring make it more. 

But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow 
    With more, not only be no quintessence, 
    But mix`d of all stuffs, vexing soul, or sense, 
And of the sun his active vigour borrow, 
Love’s not so pure, and abstract as they use 
To say, which have no mistress but their Muse ; 
But as all else, being elemented too, 
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do. 

And yet no greater, but more eminent, 
                Love by the spring is grown ; 
                As in the firmament
Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown, 
Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough, 
From love`s awakened root do bud out now. 

If, as in water stirr`d more circles be 
    Produced by one, love such additions take, 
    Those like so many spheres but one heaven make,
For they are all concentric unto thee ;
And though each spring do add to love new heat, 
As princes do in times of action get 
New taxes, and remit them not in peace, 
No winter shall abate this spring’s increase.
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