Love Sonnet Xvii

Beloved, lest I should remember, I Must swift forget the wonder of last night. Hot memory would but blacken out my sight And dull my senses till they seemed to die. How could I live, remembering that sigh… That breath…that sob…that all sublime delight? Eternal joy is death, I think, and might Not such sweet madness kill me, coming nigh? I died with you that hour. Or, if not, merged Myself in you, commingling all my life Within your own, until I fled and fled Into your blood; and my pure pulses surged, Heaped with the wedded bliss of man and wife… Dying, I lived…and living, I was dead.