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John Donne - Sweetest love, I do not go,
Work rating: Medium

	Sweetest love, I do not go,
	For weariness of thee,
	Nor in hope the world can show
	A fitter love for me;
	But since that I
	Must die at last, `tis best
	To use myself in jest
	Thus by feign`d deaths to die.

	Yesternight the sun went hence,
	And yet is here today;
	He hath no desire nor sense,
	Nor half so short a way:
	Then fear not me,
	But believe that I shall make
	Speedier journeys, since I take
	More wings and spurs than he.

	O how feeble is man`s power,
	That if good fortune fall,
	Cannot add another hour,
	Nor a lost hour recall!
	But come bad chance,
	And we join to`it our strength,
	And we teach it art and length,
	Itself o`er us to`advance.

	When thou sigh`st, thou sigh`st not wind,
	But sigh`st my soul away;
	When thou weep`st, unkindly kind,
	My life`s blood doth decay.
	It cannot be
	That thou lov`st me, as thou say`st,
	If in thine my life thou waste,
	That art the best of me.

	Let not thy divining heart
	Forethink me any ill;
	Destiny may take thy part,
	And may thy fears fulfil;
	But think that we
	Are but turn`d aside to sleep;
	They who one another keep
	Alive, ne`er parted be.
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