Yet nothing can to nothing fall,Nor any place be empty quite;Therefore I think my breast hath allTho

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,Nor any place be empty quite;Therefore I think my breast hath allThose pieces still, though they be not unite;And now, as broken glasses showA hundred lesser faces, soMy 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