Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last
debt
To nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,
And her soul early into heaven
ravished,
Wholly in heavenly things my mind is set.
Here the admiring her my mind did whet
To seek thee, God; so streams do show the head;
But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed,
A
holy thirsty
dropsy melts me yet.
But why should I
beg more love, whenas thou
Dost woo my soul, for hers off'ring all thine,
And dost not only fear lest I allow
My love to
saints and
angels,
things divine,
But in
thy tender jealousy dost doubt
Lest the world, flesh, yea devil put thee out.
- John Donne