Woman's Constancy / John Donne

NOW thou hast loved me one whole day,

To-morrow when thou leavest, what wilt thou say ?

Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ?

Or say that now

We are not just those persons which we were ?

Or that oaths made in reverential fear

Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear ?

Witchcraft by a Picture / John Donne

I FIX mine eye on thine, and there 

Pity my picture burning in thine eye ; 

My picture drown'd in a transparent tear, 

When I look lower I espy ; 

Hadst thou the wicked skill 

By pictures made and marr'd, to kill, 

How many ways mightst thou perform thy will? 

Valediction to his Book / John Donne

I'LL tell thee now (dear love) what thou shalt do 

To anger destiny, as she doth us ; 

How I shall stay, though she eloign me thus, 

And how posterity shall know it too ; 

How thine may out-endure 

Sibyl's glory, and obscure 

Her who from Pindar could allure, 

And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame, 

And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find, and name. 

Twickenham Garden / John Donne

BLASTED with sighs, and surrounded with tears,

Hither I come to seek the spring,

And at mine eyes, and at mine ears,

Receive such balms as else cure every thing.

But O ! self-traitor, I do bring

The spider Love, which transubstantiates all,

And can convert manna to gall ;

And that this place may thoroughly be thought

True paradise, I have the serpent brought.

The Will / John Donne

BEFORE I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe, 

Great Love, some legacies ; I here bequeath 

Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see ; 

If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee ;

My tongue to Fame ; to ambassadors mine ears ;

To women, or the sea, my tears ;

Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore

By making me serve her who had twenty more,

That I should give to none, but such as had too much before.

The Undertaking / John Donne

I HAVE done one braver thing

Than all the Worthies did ; 

And yet a braver thence doth spring, 

Which is, to keep that hid.

It were but madness now to impart 

The skill of specular stone, 

When he, which can have learn'd the art 

To cut it, can find none.

The Triple Fool / John Donne

I am two fools, I know, 

For loving, and for saying so

In whining poetry ;

But where's that wise man, that would not be I,

If she would not deny ?

Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes

Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,

I thought, if I could draw my pains

Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.

The Token / John Donne

SEND me some tokens, that my hope may live

Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest ;

Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive,

That in my passions I may hope the best.

I beg nor ribbon wrought with thine own hands,

To knit our loves in the fantastic strain

Of new-touch'd youth ; nor ring to show the stands

Of our affection, that, as that's round and plain,

The Sun Rising / John Donne

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, 

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ? 

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? 

Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide 

Late school-boys and sour prentices, 

Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, 

Call country ants to harvest offices ;

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, 

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. 

The Prohibition / John Donne

TAKE heed of loving me ;

At least remember, I forbade it thee ;

Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste

Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,

By being to thee then what to me thou wast ;

But so great joy our life at once outwears.

Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be,

If thou love me, take heed of loving me.

The Primrose / John Donne

UPON this Primrose hill, 

Where, if heaven would distil 

A shower of rain, each several drop might go 

To his own primrose, and grow manna so ; 

And where their form, and their infinity 

Make a terrestrial galaxy, 

As the small stars do in the sky ; 

I walk to find a true love ; and I see 

That 'tis not a mere woman, that is she, 

But must or more or less than woman be. 

The Paradox / John Donne

NO lover saith, I love, nor any other 

Can judge a perfect lover ; 

He thinks that else none can or will agree,

That any loves but he ;

I cannot say I loved, for who can say 

He was kill'd yesterday.

Love with excess of heat, more young than old, 

Death kills with too much cold ;

The Message / John Donne

SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me,

Which, O ! too long have dwelt on thee ;

Yet since there they have learn'd such ill,

Such forced fashions,

And false passions,

That they be

Made by thee

Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

The Legacy / John Donne

WHEN last I died, and, dear, I die 

As often as from thee I go, 

Though it be but an hour ago

—And lovers' hours be full eternity—

I can remember yet, that I 

Something did say, and something did bestow ;

Though I be dead, which sent me, I might be 

Mine own executor, and legacy.

The Indifferent / John Donne

I CAN love both fair and brown ;

Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays ;

Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays ;

Her whom the country form'd, and whom the town ;

Her who believes, and her who tries ;

Her who still weeps with spongy eyes,

And her who is dry cork, and never cries.

I can love her, and her, and you, and you ;

The Good-Morrow / John Donne

I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I

Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ? 

But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ? 

Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?

'Twas 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.

The Funeral / John Donne

WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm,

Nor question much,

That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm ;

The mystery, the sign, you must not touch ;

For 'tis my outward soul,

Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,

Will leave this to control

And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

The Flea / John Donne

MARK but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deniest me is ;

It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, 

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.

Thou know'st that this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;

Yet this enjoys before it woo,

And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;

And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

The Expiration / John Donne

SO, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,

Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away ;

Turn, thou ghost, that way, and let me turn this,

And let ourselves benight our happiest day.

We ask none leave to love ; nor will we owe

Any so cheap a death as saying, "Go."

Go ; and if that word have not quite killed thee,

Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.

The Ecstasy / John Donne

WHERE, like a pillow on a bed, 

A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest 

The violet's reclining head, 

Sat we two, one another's best. 

Our hands were firmly cemented 

By a fast balm, which thence did spring ; 

Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread 

Our eyes upon one double string.