Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retir'd; Bid her come forth, Suffer her self to be desir'd, And not blush to be admir'd.
I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den? 'Twas so; but this all pleasures fancies be; If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.john donne