I never stoop'd so low as they
Wich on an eye, lip, cheek can prey;
Seldom to them which soar no higher
Than virtue, or the mind to admire.
For sense and understanding may
Know what gives fuel to their fire;
My love, though silly, is more brave;
For may I miss, whene'er I crave
If I know yet what I would have.
If that be simply perfectest,
Which can by no way be express'd,
But negatives, my love is so.
To all, which all love, I say no.
If any who deciphers best,
What we know not - ourselves - can know
Let him teach me that nothing. This
As yet my ease and comfort is
Though I speed not, I can not miss.
John Donne, 1896.