Odes (1619)
THE HEART
IF thus we needs must go,
What shall our one heart do,
This one made of our two?
Madam, two hearts we brake
And from them both did take
The best, one heart to make.
Half this is of your heart,
Mine in the other part,
Join'd by our equal art.
Were it cemented, or sewn,
By shreds or pieces known,
We each might find our own.
But 'tis dissolved, and fix'd,
And with such cunning mix'd,
No diff'rence that betwixt.
But how shall we agree,
By whom it kept shall be,
Whether by you, or me?
It cannot two breasts fill,
One must be heartless still,
Untill the other will.
It came to me to-day,
When I will'd it to say,
With whether it would stay?
It told me: In your breast,
Where it might hope to rest:
For if it were my guest,
For certainety it knew,
That I would still anew
Be sending it to you.
Never, I think had two
Such work, so much to do,
A unity to woo.
Yours was so cold and chaste
Whilst mine with zeal did waste,
Like fire with water plac'd.
How did my heart intreat,
How pant, how did it beat,
Till it could give your's heat!
Till to that temper brought,
Through our perfection wrought,
That blessing either's thought,
In such a height it lies,
From this base world's dull eyes,
That heaven it not envies.
All that this earth can show,
Our heart shall not once know,
For it too vile and low.
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Michael Drayton
