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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 not he 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 mis-devotion doth command,
Then he, that digs us up, will bring
Us to the bishop, and the king,
To make us relics; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby;
All women should 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 lov'd well and faithfully
Yet knew not what we lov'd, nor why;
Difference of sex no more we knew
No more than guardian angels do;
Coming and going, we
Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;
Our hands ne'er touched the seals,
Which nature, injur'd 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.
by
John Donne
