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The Surrender

MY once dear love, hapless that I no more Must call thee so, the rich affection's store That fed our hope lies now exhaust and spent,

Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent.

We, that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us and with them set,

Must learn the hateful art, how to forget.

We that did nothing wish that Heaven would give Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must As if not writ in faith, but words and dust.

Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make,

Witness the chaste desires that never brake Into unruly heats; witness that breast Which in thy bosom anchor'd his whole rest; 'Tis no default in us:

I dare acquite Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white As thy pure self.

Cross planets did envý Us to each other, and Heaven did untie Faster than vows could bind.

Oh, that the stars,

When lovers meet, should stand opposed in wars!

Since, then, some higher destinies command,

Let us not strive, nor labor to withstand What is past help.

The longest date of grief Can never yield a hope of our relief;

And though we waste ourselves in moist laments,

Tears may drown us, but not our discontents.

Fold back our arms, take home our fruitless loves,

That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves Dislodgëd from their haunts.

We must in tears Unwind a love knit up in many years.

In this last kiss I here surrender thee Back to thy self, so thou again art free;

Thou in another, sad as that, resend The truest heart that lover e'er did lend.

Now turn from each.

So fare our severed hearts As the divorced soul from her body parts.

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Henry King

Henry King (1592 – 30 September 1669) was an English poet who served as Bishop of Chichester.

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