A Valediction: Of Weeping

by John Donne

　　My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,

　　For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,

　　And by this mintage they are something worth.

　　 For thus they be

　　 Pregnant of thee;

　　Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more;

　　When a tear falls, that thou fall'st which it bore;

　　So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

　　 On a round ball

　　A workman, that hath copies by, can lay

　　An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,

　　And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.

　　 So doth each tear,

　　 Which thee doth wear,

　　A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,

　　Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow

　　This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolvèd so.

　　 O ! more than moon,

　　Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere;

　　Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear

　　To teach the sea, what it may do too soon;

　　 Let not the wind

　　 Example find

　　To do me more harm than it purposeth:

　　Since thou and I sigh one another's breath,

　　Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.