John Donne
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The Funeral
¶WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harmNor question muchThat subtle wreath of hair about mine arm;The mystery, the sign you must not touch,For 'tis my outward soul,Viceroy to that which, unto heav'n being gone,Will leave this to controlAnd keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
¶For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fallThrough every partCan tie those parts, and make me one of all;Those hairs, which upward grew, and strength and artHave from a better brain,Can better do't: except she meant that IBy this should know my pain,As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemn'd to die.
¶Whate'er she meant by't, bury it with me,For since I amLove's martyr, it might breed idolatryIf into other hands these reliques came.As 'twas humilityT' afford to it all that a soul can do,So 'tis some braveryThat, since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.
A Hymn to God the Father
¶WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun,Which was my sin, though it were done before?Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,And do run still, though still I do deplore?When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;For I have more.
¶Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have wonOthers to sin, and made my sins their door?Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shunA year or two, but wallow'd in a score?When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;For I have more.
¶I have a sin of fear, that when I've spunMy last thread, I shall perish on the shore;But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy SonShall shine as He shines now and heretofore:And having done that, Thou hast done;I fear no more.
Valediction, Forbidding Mourning
¶As virtuous men pass mildly away,And whisper to their souls to go;While some of their sad friends do say,Now his breath goes, and some say, No;
¶So let us melt, and make no noise,No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;'Twere profanation of our joysTo tell the laity our love.
¶Moving of th' earth brings harms and fearsMen reckon what it did and meant;But trepidations of the spheres,Though greater far, are innocent.[305]Dull sublunary lovers' love,Whose soul is sense, cannot admitAbsence; for that it doth removeThose things which elemented it.
¶But we, by a love so far refined,That ourselves know not what it is,Inter-assured of the mind,Careless, eyes, lips and hands to miss,
¶—Our two souls therefore, which are one,Though I must go, endure not yetA breach, but an expansion,Like gold to airy thinness beat.
¶If they be two, they are two soAs stiff twin compasses are two;Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no showTo move, but doth if th' other do.
¶And though it in the centre sit,Yet when the other far doth roam,It leans and hearkens after it,And grows erect as that comes home.
¶Such wilt thou be to me, who must,Like th' other foot, obliquely run;Thy firmness makes my circles just,And makes me end where I begun.
Death
¶DEATH, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrowDie not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;And soonest our best men with thee do go-Rest of their bones and souls' delivery![306]Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;And poppy or charms can make us sleep as wellAnd better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?One short sleep past, we wake eternally,And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
The Dream
¶DEAR love, for nothing less than theeWould I have broke this happy dream;It was a themeFor reason, much too strong for fantasy.Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yetMy dream thou brak'st not, but continued'st it:Thou art so true that thoughts of thee sufficeTo make dreams truths and fables histories.Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it bestNot to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.
¶As lightning, or a taper's light,Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;Yet I thought thee—For thou lov'st truth—an angel at first sight;But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art,When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st whenExcess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,I must confess it could not choose but beProfane to think thee anything but thee.
¶Coming and staying show'd thee thee;But rising makes me doubt that nowThou art not thou.That Love is weak where Fear's as strong as he;'Tis not all spirit pure and brave,If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour have.Perchance, as torches, which must ready be,Men light and put out, so thou dealst with me.Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come: then IWill dream that hope again, but else would die.
Song
¶Go and catch a falling star,Get with child a mandrake root,Tell me where all past hours are,Or who cleft the Devil's foot;Teach me to hear mermaids singing,Or to keep off envy's stinging,Or findWhat windServes to advance an honest mind.
¶If thou be'st born to strange sights,Things invisible go see,Ride ten thousand days and nights,Till age snow white hairs on thee.Thou at thy return wilt tell meAll strange wonders that befell thee,And swear,No whereLives a woman true and fair.
¶If thou find'st one, let me know,Such a pilgrimage were sweet;Yet do not, I would not go,Though at next door we should meet.Though she were true when you met her,And last till you write your letter,Yet sheWill beFalse, ere I come, to two or three.
SWEETEST LOVE, I Do NOT Go
¶SWEETEST love, I do not goFor weariness of thee,Nor in hope the world can showA fitter love for me;But since that IMust die at last, 'tis bestThus to use myself in jest,By feigned death to die.[308]Yesternight the sun went hence,And yet is here to-day;He hath no desire nor sense,Nor half so short a way.Then fear not me,But believe that I shall makeHastier journeys, since I takeMore wings and spurs than he.
¶O how feeble is man's power,That, if good fortune fall,Cannot add another hour,Nor a lost hour recall.But come bad chance,And we join to it our strength,And we teach it art and length,Itself o'er us t' advance.
¶When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st no wind,But sigh'st my soul away;When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,My life's blood doth decay.It cannot beThat thou lov'st me as thou say'st,If in thine my life thou waste,That art the best of me.
¶Let not thy divining heartForethink me any ill.Destiny may take thy partAnd may thy fears fulfil;But think that weAre but turned aside to sleep:They who one another keepAlive, ne'er parted be.
Lover's Infiniteness
¶IF yet I have not all thy love,Dear, I shall never have it all;I cannot breathe one other sigh to move,[309]Nor can entreat one other tear to fall;And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters, I have spent;Yet no more can be due to me,Than at the bargain made was meant:If, then, thy gift of love was partial,That some to me, some should to others fall,Dear, I shall never have it all.
¶Or if then thou gavest me all,All was but all which thou hadst then;But if in thy heart since there be, or shallNew love created be by other men,Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,In sighs, in oaths, in letters outbid me,This new love may beget new fears;For this love was not vowed by thee,And yet it was, thy gift being general:The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shallGrow there, dear, I should have it all.
¶Yet I would not have all yet;He that hath all can have no more;And since my love doth every day admitNew growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store.Thou canst not every day give me thy heart;If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it:Love's riddles are that, though thy heart depart,It stays at home, and thou with losing sav'st it,But we will love a way more liberalThan changing hearts,—to join them; so we shallBe one, an one another's All.
Love's Deity
¶I LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost,Who died before the god of love was born:I cannot think that he, that then loved most,Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.But since this god produced a destiny,[310]And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,I must love her that loves not me.
¶Sure they which made him god meant not so much,Nor he in his young godhead practised it;But when an even flame two hearts did touch,His office was indulgently to fitActives to passives; correspondencyOnly his subject was; it cannot beLove, if I love who loves not me.
¶But every modern god will now extendHis vast prerogative as far as Jove;To rage, to lust, to write too, to commend;All is the purlieu of the god of love.0 were we wakened by his tyrannyTo ungod this child again, it could not beI should love her that loves not me.
¶Rebel and atheist, too, why murmur I,As though I felt the worst that love could do?Love may make me leave loving, or might tryA deeper plague, to make her love me too,Which, since she loves before, I am loath to see,Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,If she whom I love should love me.
Stay, O Sweet
¶STAY, O sweet, and do not rise!The light that shines comes from thine eyes;The day breaks not: it is my heart,Because that you and I must part.Stay! or else my joys will die,And perish in their infancy.
¶'Tis true, 'tis day: what though it be?O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?Why should we rise because 'tis light?Did we lie down because 'twas night?Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,Should in despite of light keep us together.[311]Light hath no tongue, but is all eye.If it could speak as well as spy,This were the worst that it could say:—That , being well, I fain would stay,And that I lov'd my heart and honour so,That I would not from him, that had them, go.
¶Must business thee from hence remove?Oh , that's the worse disease of love!The poor, the fool, the false, love canAdmit , but not the busied man.He , which hath business, and makes love, doth doSuch wrong, as when a married man doth woo.
The Blossom
¶LITTLE think'st thou, poor flower,Whom I have watched six or seven days,And seen thy birth, and seen what every hourGave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise,And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough,—Little think'st thouThat it will freeze anon, and that I shallTo-morrow find thee fall'n, or not at all.
¶Little think'st thou, poor heart,That labourest yet to nestle thee,And think'st by hovering here to get a partIn a forbidden or forbidding tree,And hop'st her stiffness by long siege to bow,— Little think'st thouThat thou, to-morrow, ere the sun doth wake ,Must with the sun and me a journey take.
¶But thou, which lov'st to beSubtle to plague thyself, wilt say—"Alas! if you must go, what's that to me ?Here lies my business, and here will I stay:You go to friends, whose love and means presentVarious content[312]To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part:If then your body go, what need your heart?"
¶Well, then, stay here: but knowWhen thou hast said and done thy most,A naked thinking heart, that makes no show,Is to a woman but a kind of ghost;How shall she know my heart? Or , having none,Know thee for one?Practice may make her know some other part,But take my word, she doth not know a heart.
¶Meet me in London , then,Twenty days hence, and thou shalt seeMe fresher and more fat, by being with men,Than if I had stay'd still with her and thee.For God's sake, if you can, be you so too:I will give youThere to another friend, whom you shall findAs glad to have my body as my mind.
The Good Morrow
¶I WONDER, by my troth, what thou and IDid , till we loved? were we not weaned till then?But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?Or snored we in the Seven Sleepers' den?' T was so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;If ever any beauty I did see.Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
¶And now good-morrow to our waking souls,Which watch not one another out of fear;For love all love of other sights controls,And makes one little room an everywhere.Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.
¶My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;[313]Where can we find two better hemispheresWithout sharp north, without decUning west?Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;If our two loves be one, or thou and ILove so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
¶776 Present in AbsenceAbsence, hear thou my protestationAgainst thy strength.Distance, and length;Do what thou canst for alteration:For hearts of truest mettleAbsence doth join, and Time doth settle.
¶Who loves a mistress of such quality,His mind hath foundAffection's groundBeyond time, place, and all mortality.To hearts that cannot varyAbsence is present, Time doth tarry.
¶My senses want their outward motionWhich now withinReason doth win,Redoubled by her secret notion:Like rich men that take pleasureIn hiding more than handling treasure.
¶By absence this good means I gain,That I can catch her.Where none can watch her,In some close corner of my brain:There I embrace and kiss her;And so enjoy her and none miss her.