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I wonder, by my troth,
what thou and I did till we lov'd
Love, all alike, no
season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, days, months,
which are the rage of time
Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name; So in a shapeless
flame angels affect us oft, and worshipped be; Still
when to where thou wert, I came. Some lovely glorious
nothing I did see, But since my soul, whose child love
is, Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the 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 the lip, eye , and
brow
Love's mysteries in
soul's do grow. But yet the body is his book
My face in thine eyes, 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 mixed equally; If our two loves be one, or
thou and I. Love so alike, that none do slacken, none
can die.
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