We that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us, and with them set, Must learn the hate… - Henry King

But hark! My pulse, like a soft drum
Beats my approach, tells thee I come;
And, slow howe’er my marches be,
I shall at last sit down by thee.
The thought of this bids me go on,
And wait my dissolution
With hope and comfort. Dear! (forgive
The crime) I am content to live
Divided, with but half a heart,
Till we shall meet and never part.

Prodigious might that union prove,
Where Night and Day together move,
And the conjunction of our lips
Not kisses make but an eclipse;
In which the mixed black and white
Portends more terrour than delight.

Sleep on (my Love!) in thy cold bed
Never to be disquieted.
My last Good-night! Thou wilt not wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake:
Till age, or grief, or sickness must
Marry my body to that dust
It so much loves; and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there: I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale.
And think not much of my delay;
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.