Ever creative in his metaphors, Donne draws here -- in typical fashion -- on imagery from physical science, particularly geography and medicine, in order to convey the metaphysical relationship between himself and his beloved. My anthology provides this helpful note on the last three lines: "In medieval and Renaissance medical theory, death was often considered the result of an imbalance in the body's elements. When elements were "not mixed equally", matter was mutable and mortal, but when they were mixed perfectly, it was unchanging and immortal."
The Good-Morrow
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did till we loved? were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp North, without declining West?
Whatever dies was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.
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