Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which too long have dwelt on thee

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
Those pieces still, though they be not unite;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.

Dear love, for nothing less than thee / Would I have broke this happy dream, / It was a theme / For reason, much too strong for fantasy, / Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet / My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.

My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, but after one such love can love no more.

The day breaks not, it is my heart.

I have looked into your eyes with my eyes. I have put my heart near your heart.