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John Donne - To The Countess Of Bedford I
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MADAM—
Reason is our soul`s left hand, faith her right ;
    By these we reach divinity, that`s you ;
Their loves, who have the blessing of your light,
    Grew from their reason ; mine from fair faith grew.
But as, although a squint left-handedness
    Be ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand ;
So would I—not to increase, but to express
    My faith—as I believe, so understand.

Therefore I study you first in your saints,
    Those friends whom your election glorifies ;
Then in your deeds, accesses and restraints,
    And what you read, and what yourself devise.

But soon the reasons why you`re loved by all,
    Grow infinite, and so pass reason`s reach ;
Then back again to implicit faith I fall,
    And rest on that the Catholic voice doth teach—

That you are good ; and not one heretic
    Denies it ; if he did, yet you are so ;
For rocks, which high to sense deep-rooted stick,
    Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow.

In everything there naturally grows
    A balsamum to keep it fresh and new,
If `twere not inured by extrinsic blows ;
    Your birth and beauty are this balm in you.

But you, of learning, and religion,
    And virtue, and such ingredients, have made
A mithridate, whose operation
    Keeps off, or cures, what can be done or said.

Yet this is not your physic, but your food,
    A diet fit for you ; for you are here
The first good angel, since the world`s frame stood,
    That ever did in woman`s shape appear.

Since you are then God`s masterpiece, and so
    His factor for our loves, do as you do ;
Make your return home gracious, and bestow
    This life on that ; so make one life of two.
    For, so God help me, I would not miss you there,
    For all the good which you can do me here.
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