Sonnet 31

Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts,

Which I by lacking have supposèd dead,

And there reigns love and all love’s loving parts,

And all those friends which I thought burièd.

How many a holy and obsequious tear

Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye

As interest of the dead, which now appear

But things removed that hidden in thee lie?

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,

Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,

Who all their parts of me to thee did give;

That due of many now is thine alone.

Their images I loved I view in thee,

And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

In your heart are all the lovers

I lost and had presumed dead;

And in my heart desire recovers,

Though I thought it too was buried.

How many tears I’ve wasted mourning

Religiously for lovers past,

Who now appear as if they’d been hiding

All along in you to outlast

My grief: in your heart, like a tomb

With roses spread,

All of my loves in a single room,

Saved up for a single bed.

All I loved in them I see in you,

And being theirs, I’m all yours too.