I long to talk with some old lover’s ghost Who died before the god of Love was born. - John Donne

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,
Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorius nothing I did see,
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than a parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too,
And therefore what thou wert, and who
I bid love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls; For, thus friends absent speak.

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