Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. - John Donne

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
Those pieces still, though they be not unite;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.

Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant;
the only harmless great thing.

I fix mine eye on thine, and there
Pity my picture burning in thine eye...