Henry King (poet)

"Sleep on (my Love!) in thy cold bed Never to be disquieted. My last Good-night! Thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake: Till age, or grief, or sickness must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves; and fill the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there: I will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale. And think not much of my delay; I am already on the way, And follow thee with all the speed Desire can make, or sorrows breed."

"But hark! My pulse, like a soft drum Beats my approach, tells thee I come; And, slow howe’er my marches be, I shall at last sit down by thee. The thought of this bids me go on, And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort. Dear! (forgive The crime) I am content to live Divided, with but half a heart, Till we shall meet and never part."

"We that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us, and with them set, Must learn the hateful art, how to forget."

"Prodigious might that union prove, Where Night and Day together move, And the conjunction of our lips Not kisses make but an eclipse; In which the mixed black and white Portends more terrour than delight."