Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns Love, and all Love’s loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
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 remov’d 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 lov’d, I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.
In plain English
Your heart holds everyone I've ever loved. I thought they were gone from my life, but they live on in you. All the love I felt for them, all their best qualities—they're all present in you now.
I've shed so many tears grieving for people I've lost, as if paying my respects to the dead. But now I see those people weren't really gone—they were just hidden, waiting inside you all along.
You're like a tomb where my old loves are buried and yet still alive. You wear their memory like trophies on the walls. They gave me every piece of themselves, and now everything they were belongs to you alone. When I look at you, I see all of them, and in loving you, I love them all. You contain everyone I've ever loved—you are all of them, and all of me.
