Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts

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 tearHath dear religious love stol'n from mine eyeAs interest of the dead, which now appearBut things remov'd that hidden in there 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.