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John Donne

“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.”


John Donne, The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose
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The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose The Complete Poetry and Selected Prose by John Donne
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