The good-morrow

I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
did, till we loved ? were we not wean’d till then ?
but suck’d on country pleasures, childishly ?
or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den ?
‘twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
if ever any beauty I did see,
which I desired, and got, ’twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
which watch not one another out of fear ;
for love all love of other sights controls,
and makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
and true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
where can we find two better hemispheres
without sharp north, without declining west ?
whatever dies, was not mix’d equally ;
if our two loves be one, or thou and I
love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.