John Donne: A Valediction of Weeping

A Valediction of Weeping

                        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.