Since that which issues from the sovereign head
Springs from a source so weak and insecure,
And beauty's charm no longer may endure
Than the gross hunger of the sense is fed;
With what assurance, then, can it be said
The heart's affections, howsoever pure,
Escape through death, and bear a life more sure
Than other passions that forsake the dead?
Is love the soul's one attribute? And will
Thine eyes regard me in that future state
As the dove's, yearning towards her distant mate?
Or shall I see thee, passionless and chill,
Swim through the courts of heaven, and fill
My soul with grief at my immortal fate?