John Donne
John Donne
John Donnewas an English poet and a cleric in the Church of England. He is considered the pre-eminent representative of the metaphysical poets. His works are noted for their strong, sensual style and include sonnets, love poems, religious poems, Latin translations, epigrams, elegies, songs, satires and sermons. His poetry is noted for its vibrancy of language and inventiveness of metaphor, especially compared to that of his contemporaries. Donne's style is characterised by abrupt openings and various paradoxes, ironies and dislocations...
eyes home send thee
Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which too long have dwelt on thee
died full hour hours lovers thee though
When I died last, and, Dear, I die as often as from thee I go though it be but an hour ago and lovers hours be full eternity.
died full hour hours thee though
When I died last, and, Dear, I die / As often as from thee I go, / Though it be but an hour ago, / And lovers' hours be full eternity.
bell send thee therefore whom
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee
broke dear dream happy less strong thee theme therefore thou
Dear love, for nothing less than thee / Would I have broke this happy dream, / It was a theme / For reason, much too strong for fantasy, / Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet / My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.
thee kill-me dies
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
dream thee ifs
If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
lust disease thee
Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
balm earth general hath sap
The world's whole sap is sunk: / The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk.
Be your own palace, or the world is your jail.
both break ghost happiest last selves sucks thou turn
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 our selves benight our happiest day.
goes propose sea sick true whoever
Whoever loves, if he do not propose the right true end of love, he's one that goes to sea for nothing but to make him sick
crowns harm nor question shroud subtle
Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm / Nor question much / That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm.
almost blood body eloquent might pure spoke
Her pure and eloquent blood / Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, / That one might almost say, her body thought.