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    A Valediction of Weeping

    by John Donne
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    LET me pour forth
    My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,
    For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,
    And by this mintage they are something worth.
    For thus they be
    Pregnant of thee ;
    Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more ;
    When a tear falls, that thou fall'st which it bore ;
    So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

    On a round ball
    A workman, that hath copies by, can lay
    An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
    And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.
    So doth each tear,
    Which thee doth wear,
    A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
    Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow
    This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolvèd so.

    O ! more than moon,
    Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere ;
    Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear
    To teach the sea, what it may do too soon ;
    Let not the wind
    Example find
    To do me more harm than it purposeth :
    Since thou and I sigh one another's breath,
    Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.
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