John Donne

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally; If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.

Other men's crosses are not my crosses.