• “Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
    Nor any place be empty quite;
    Therefore I think my breast hath all
    Those pieces still, though they be not unite;
    And now, as broken glasses show
    A hundred lesser faces, so
    My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
    But after one such love, can love no more.”

Embed:

Advertisement

Advertisement

Topics

Advertisement

Advertisement