Francis Quarles (1592–1644)

E’EN like two little bank-dividing brooks,

That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,

And having ranged and search’d a thousand nooks,

Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,

Where in a greater current they conjoin:

So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine.

E’en so we met; and after long pursuit,

E’en so we joined; we both became entire;

No need for either to renew a suit,

For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:

Our firm-united souls did more than twine;

So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering Monarchs, that command

The servile quarters of this earthly ball,

Should tender in exchange their shares of land,

I would not change my fortunes for them all:

Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:

The world’s but theirs; but my Belovèd’s mine.