Poems
by
John
Donne
(1572-‐1631)
Song: Sweetest love, I do not go
Sweetest love, I do not go, One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
For weariness of thee, And death shall be no more;; Death, thou shalt die.
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;;
But since that I Woman's Constancy
Must die at last, ‘tis best Now thou has loved me one whole day,
To use myself in jest Tomorrow when you leav’st, what wilt thou say?
2
Thus by feign’d deaths to die. Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow?
Or say that now
Yesternight the sun went hence, We are not just those persons which we were?
And yet is here today;; Or, that oaths made in reverential fear
3
He hath no desire nor sense, Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear ?
Nor half so short a way: Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
Then fear not me, So lovers’ contracts, images of those,
But believe that I shall make Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose?
Speedier journeys, since I take Or, your own end to justify,
1
More wings and spurs than he. For having purposed change and falsehood, you
Can have no way but falsehood to be true?
O how feeble is man’s power, Vain lunatic, against these ‘scapes I could
That if good fortune fall, Dispute and conquer, if I would,
Cannot add another hour, Which I abstain to do,
Nor a lost hour recall! For by tomorrow, I may think so too.
But come bad chance,
And we join to’it our strength,
4
And we teach it art and length, A Valediction : of Weeping
Itself o’er us to’advance. Let me pour forth
My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,
When thou sigh’st, thou sigh’st not wind, For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,
5
But sigh’st my soul away;; And by this mintage they are something worth,
When thou weep’st, unkindly kind, For thus they be
My life’s blood doth decay. Pregnant of thee;;
It cannot be Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more,
That thou lov’st me, as thou say’st, When a tear falls, that thou falls which it bore,
If in thine my life thou waste, So thou and I are nothing then, when on a diverse shore.
That art the best of me.
On a round ball
Let not thy divining heart A workman that hath copies by, can lay
Forethink me any ill;; An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
Destiny may take thy part, And quickly make that, which was nothing, all;;
And may thy fears fulfil;; So doth each tear
But think that we Which thee doth wear,
Are but turn’d aside to sleep;; A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
They who one another keep Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow
Alive, ne’er parted be. This world;; by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
Death, be not proud (Holy Sonnet 10) O more than moon,
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere,
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;; Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow To teach the sea what it may do too soon;;
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. Let not the wind
Example find,
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, To do me more harm than it purposeth;;
Much pleasure;; then from thee much more must flow, Since thou and I sigh one another's breath,
And soonest our best men with thee do go, Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
6
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart, three-person'd God
And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke;; why swell’st thou then? Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
1 4
Spur: espora Valediction: the act of saying farewell
2 5
antedate: to give an earlier date Mintage: cunhagem
3 6
forswear: to promise to give up (something) or to stop doing batter: to beat with successive blows so as to bruise, shatter, or
(something) demolish
Poems
by
John
Donne
(1572-‐1631)
16
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;; Such life is like the light which bideth yet
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend When the life's light is set,
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. Or like the heat which fire in solid matter
I, like an usurp'd town to another due, Leaves behind, two hours after.
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;; Once I loved and died;; and am now become
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, Mine epitaph and tomb;;
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue. Here dead men speak their last, and so do I;;
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain, Love-slain, lo! here I die.
7
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, The Broken Heart
Take me to you, imprison me, for I, He is stark mad, whoever says,
8
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, That he hath been in love an hour,
9
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. Yet not that love so soon decays,
But that it can ten in less space devour;;
The Flea Who will believe me, if I swear
Mark but this flea, and mark in this, That I have had the plague a year?
How little that which thou deniest me is;; Who would not laugh at me, if I should say,
Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee, I saw a flask of powder burn a day?
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;;
Thou know'st that this cannot be said Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
10
A sin, nor shame nor loss of maidenhead , If once into love’s hands it come!
Yet this enjoys before it woo, All other griefs allow a part
And pampered swells with one blood made of two, To other griefs, and ask themselves but some;;
And this, alas, is more than we would do. They come to us, but us Love draws,
He swallows us, and never chaws:
Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, By him, as by chain’d shot, whole ranks do die,
11 17 18
Where we almost, yea more than married are. He is the tyrant pike , our hearts the fry .
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed and marriage temple is;; If ’twere not so, what did become
12
Though parents grudge , and you, we are met, Of my heart, when I first saw thee
13
And cloistered in these living walls of jet . I brought a heart into the room,
Though use make you apt to kill me, But from the room, I carried none with me:
Let not to that, self-murder added be, If it had gone to thee, I know
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. Mine would have taught thine heart to show
More pity unto me;; but Love, alas!
Curel and sudden, hast thou since At one, first blow did shiver it as glass.
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be, Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee? Nor any place be empty quite,
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou Therefore I think my breast hath all
Find'st not thy self nor me the weaker now;; Those pieces still, though they be not unite;;
'Tis true;; then learn how false, fears be;; And now as broken glasses show
14
Just so much honor, when thou yield'st to me, A hundred lesser faces, so
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee. My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.
The Paradox
No lover saith, I love, nor any other The Sun Rising
Can judge a perfect lover;;
Busy old fool, unruly sun,
He thinks that else none can or will agree,
That any loves but he;; Why dost thou thus,
I cannot say I loved, for who can say Through windows, and through curtains call on us?
He was kill'd yesterday. Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
19 20
Love with excess of heat, more young than old, Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Death kills with too much cold;; Late school boys and sour prentices,
We die but once, and who loved last did die, Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,
He that saith, twice, doth lie;; Call country ants to harvest offices,
For though he seems to move, and stir a while, Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
15
It doth the sense beguile . Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
7 14
betroth: to promise to marry yield: reward (in this context, going to bed with)
8 15
enthrall: to hold in or reduce to slavery beguile: deceive
9 16
ravish: to seize and take away by violence bide: remain, sojourn, tarry
10 17
maidenhead: virginity pike: long-bodied predatory freshwater fish
11 18
yea: more than this Fry: juvenile fishes
12 19
grudge: to dislike or feel angry toward (someone) for something saucy: rude
13 20
jet: a kind of coal chide: scold
Poems
by
John
Donne
(1572-‐1631)
Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long;;
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, “All here in one bed lay”.
She's all states, and all princes, I,
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us;; compared to this,
All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus.
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;;
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.
