Made Saints

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,
  Or chide my weak hand, or my gout,
  My five grey hairs, or all my lost wealth flout,
With wealth your state, your mind with arts make smooth,
    Take you a course, get you a place,
    Watch you a lord, or his Grace,
Or the King's real, or coin held face
  Think on, what you will prove,
  So you will let me love.

When all is said, who's hurt that I do love?
  What ships of trade have my sighs drowned?
  Who says my tears have washed in flood his ground?
When did my colds the start of spring late move?
    When did the heats which my veins fill
    Add one more to the plague death's bill?
Men still fight wars, and men at law find out still
  Men to file suits when they to fight are moved
  Though she and I do love.

Call us what you will, we are made such by love;
  Call her one, and me as well a fly,
  We're wax wicks too, and at our own cost die,
And we in us find the hawk and the dove.
    The quiz of the flame bird hath more wit
    By us: we two, who are one, are it.
So, to one no sexed thing each sex does fit,
  We die and rise by same, and prove
  A thing not known, by this love.

We can die by it, if not live by love,
  And if not fit for tombs and hearse
  Our tale will be, it will be fit for verse;
And if no piece of past time's tale we prove,
    We'll build in song some nice neat rooms;
    As well a well-wrought urn so grooms
The ash of the great, as some large tombs,
  And by these hymns all shall say, "You've
  Been made saints," for our love;

And thus call on us: "You whom most high love
  Made each of each a well hid stage;
  You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;
Who did the whole world's soul shrink down, and drove
    Down in the glass that was your eyes
    (So made such glass, and too such spies,
That they did all to you made small a prize)
  States, towns, courts: all beg you both
  For a piece of your love!"

                                -- John Donne