John Donne: The Relic

The Relic

                  When my grave is broke up again                   Some second guest to entertain,                   —For graves have learn'd that woman-head,                   To be to more than one a bed—                         And he that digs it, spies A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,                         Will he not let us alone, And think that there a loving couple lies, Who thought that this device might be some way To make their souls at the last busy day Meet at this grave, and make a little stay? 
                  If this fall in a time, or land,                   Where mass-devotion doth command,                   Then he that digs us up will bring                   Us to the bishop or the king,                         To make us relics; then Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I                         A something else thereby; All women shall adore us, and some men. And, since at such time miracles are sought, I would have that age by this paper taught What miracles we harmless lovers wrought. 
                  First we loved well and faithfully,                   Yet knew not what we loved, nor why;                   Difference of sex we never knew,                   No more than guardian angels do;                         Coming and going we Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;                         Our hands ne'er touch'd the seals, Which nature, injured by late law, sets free. These miracles we did; but now alas! All measure, and all language, I should pass, Should I tell what a miracle she was.