William Habington (1605–1654)

WE saw and woo’d each other’s eyes,

My soul contracted then with thine,

And both burnt in one sacrifice,

By which our marriage grew divine.

Let wilder youths, whose soul is sense,

Profane the temple of delight,

And purchase endless penitence,

With the stol’n pleasure of one night.

Time’s ever ours, while we despise

The sensual idol of our clay,

For though the sun do set and rise,

We joy one everlasting day.

Whose light no jealous clouds obscure,

While each of us shine innocent,

The troubled stream is still impure;

With virtue flies away content.

And though opinions often err,

We’ll court the modest smile of fame,

For sin’s black danger circles her,

Who hath infection in her name.

Thus when to one dark silent room

Death shall our loving coffins thrust:

Fame will build columns on our tomb,

And add a perfume to our dust.