All kings, and all their favourites, All glory of honours, beauties, wits, The sun… — John Donne

All kings, and all their favourites, All glory of honours, beauties, wits, The sun itself, which makes times as they pass, Is elder by a year, now, than it was When thou and I first one another saw. All other things to their destruction draw; Only our love hath no decay; This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday; Running it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.