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XXXI.
Thy
bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking
have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all
love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I
thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As
interest of the dead, which now appear
But things
removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave
where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies
of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee
did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I loved I view in thee,
And thou, all
they, hast all the all of me.
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