by John Donne
And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
And growes erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to mee, who must
Like th’other foot, obliquely runne.
Thy firmnes makes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begunne.
A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING
Let me powre forth
My teares before thy face, whil’st I stay here,
For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare,
And by this Mintage they are something worth,
For thus they bee
Pregnant of thee,
Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more,
When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore,
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.
On a round ball
A workeman that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, All,
So doth each teare,
Which thee doth weare,
A globe, yea world by that impression grow,
Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
O more then Moone,
Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare,
Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare
To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone,
Let not the winde
Example finde,
To doe me more harme, then it purposeth,
Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath,
Who e’r sighes most, is cruellest, and hastes the others death.
THE EXTASIE
Where, like a pillow on a bed,
A Pregnant banke swel’d up, to rest
The violets reclining head,
Sat we two, one anothers best;
Our hands were firmely cimented
With a fast balme, which thence did spring,
Our eye-beames twisted, and did thred
Our eyes, upon one double string,
So to’entergraft our hands, as yet
Was all the meanes to make us one,
And pictures in our eyes to get
Was all our propagation.
As ’twixt two equall Armies, Fate
Suspends uncertaine victorie,
Our soules, (which to advance their state,
Were gone out,) hung ’twixt her, and mee.
And whil’st our soules negotiate there,
Wee like sepulchrall statues lay,
All day, the same our postures were,
And wee said nothing, all the day.
If any, so by love refin’d,
That he soules language understood,
And by good love were growen all minde,
Within convenient distance stood,
He (though he knowes not which soul spake,
Because both meant, both spake the same)
Might thence a new concoction take,
And part farre purer then he came.
This Extasie doth unperplex
(We said) and tell us what we love,
Wee see by this, it was not sexe
Wee see, we saw not what did move:
But as all severall soules containe
Mixture of things, they know not what,
Love, these mixt soules, doth mixe againe,
And makes both one, each this and that.
A single violet transplant,
The strength, the colour, and the size,
(All which before was poore, and scant,)
Redoubles still, and multiplies.
When love, with one another so
Interinanimates two soules,
That abler soule, which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controules.
Wee then, who are this new soule, know,
Of what we are compos’d, and made,
For, th’Atomies of which we grow,
Are soules, whom no change can invade.
But O alas, so long, so farre
Our bodies why doe wee forbeare?
They are ours, though not wee, Wee are
The intelligences, they the spheares.
We owe them thankes, because they thus,
Did us, to us, at first convay,
Yeelded their senses force to us,
Nor are drosse to us, but allay.
On man heavens influence workes not so,
But that it first imprints the ayre,
For soule into the soule may flow,
Though it to body first repaire.
As our blood labours to beget
Spirits, as like soules as it can,
Because such fingers need to knit
That subtile knot, which makes us man:
So must pure lovers soules descend
T’affections, and to faculties,
Which sense may reach and apprehend,
Else a great Prince in prison lies.
To’our bodies turne wee then, that so
Weake men on love reveal’d may looke;
Loves mysteries in soules doe grow,
But yet the body is his booke.
And if some lover, such as wee,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still marke us, he shall see
Small change, when we’are to bodies gone.
THE WILL
Before I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath,
Great love, some Legacies; Here I bequeath
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see,
If they be blinde, then Love, I give them thee;
My tongue to Fame; to’Embassadours mine eares;
To women or the sea, my teares;
Thou, Love, hast taught mee heretofore
By making mee serve her who’had twenty more,
That I should give to none, but such, as had too much before.
My constancie I to the planets give,
My truth to them, who at the Court doe live;
Mine ingenuity and opennesse,
To Jesuites; to Buffones my pensivenesse;
My silence to’any, who abroad hath beene;
My mony to a Capuchin.
Thou Love taught’st me, by appointing mee
To love there, where no love receiv’d can be,
Onely to give to such as have an incapacitie.
My faith I give to Roman Catholiques;
All my goods works unto the Schismaticks
Of Amsterdam: my best civility
And Courtship, to an Universitie;
My modesty I give to souldiers bare;
My patience let gamesters share.
Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee
Love her that holds my love disparity,
Onely to give to those that count my gifts indignity.
I give my reputation to those
Which were my friends; Mine industrie to foes;
To Schoolemen I bequeath my doubtfulnesse;
My sicknesse to Physitians, or excesse;
To Nature, all that I in Ryme have writ;
And to my company my wit;
Thou Love, by making mee adore
Her, who begot this love in mee before,
Taughtst me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.
To him for whom the passing bell next tolls,
I give my physick bookes; my writen rowles
Of Morall counsels, I to Bedlam give;
My brazen medals, unto them which live
In want of bread; To them which passe among
All forrainers, mine English tongue.
Thou, Love, by making mee love one
Who thinkes her friendship a fit portion
For yonger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.
Therefore I’ll give no more; But I�
��ll undoe
The world by dying; because love dies too.
Then all your beauties will be no more worth
Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth.
And all your graces no more use shall have
Then a Sun dyall in a grave,
Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee
Love her, who doth neglect both mee and thee,
To’invent, and practise this one way, to’annihilate all three.
THE APPARITION
When by thy scorne, O murdresse, I am dead,
And that thou thinkst thee free
From all solicitation from mee,
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,
And thee, fain’d vestall in worse armes shall see;
Then thy sicke taper will begin to winke,
And he, whose thou art then, being tyr’d before,
Will, if thou stirre, or pinch to wake him, thinke
Thou call’st for more,
And in false sleepe will from thee shrinke,
And then poore Aspen wretch, neglected thou
Bath’d in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lye
A veryer ghost than I,
What I will say, I will not tell thee now,
Lest that preserve thee’; and since my love is spent,
I’had rather thou shouldst painfully repent,
Then by my threatnings rest still innocent.
A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW
Stand still, and I will read to thee
A Lecture, Love, in loves philosophy.
These three houres that we have spent,
Walking here, Two shadowes went
Along with us, which we our selves produc’d;
But, now the Sunne is just above our head,
We doe those shadowes tread;
And to brave clearnesse all things are reduc’d.
So whilst our infant loves did grow,
Disguises did, and shadowes, flow,
From us, and our cares; but, now ’tis not so.
That love hath not attain’d the high’st degree,
Which is still diligent lest others see.
Except our loves at this noone stay,
We shall new shadowes make the other way.
As the first were made to blinde
Others; these which come behinde
Will worke upon our selves, and blind our eyes.
If our loves faint, and westwardly decline;
To me thou, falsly, thine,
And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
The morning shadowes weare away,
But these grow longer all the day,
But oh, loves day is short, if love decay.
Love is a growing, or full constant light;
And his first minute, after noone, is night.
THE RELIQUE
When my grave is broke up againe
Some second guest to entertaine,
(For graves have learn’d that woman-head
To be to more then one a Bed)
And he that digs it, spies
A bracelet of bright haire about the bone,
Will he not let’us alone,
And thinke that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some way
To make their soules, at the last busie day,
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
If this fall in a time, or land,
Where mis-devotion doth command,
Then, he that digges us up, will bring
Us, to the Bishop, and the King,
To make us Reliques; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby;
All women shall adore us, and some men;
And since at such time, miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles wee harmlesse lovers wrought.
First, we lov’d well and faithfully,
Yet knew not what wee lov’d, nor why,
Difference of sex no more wee knew,
Then our Guardian Angells doe,
Comming and going, wee,
Perchance might kisse, but not between those meales.
Our hands ne’r toucht the seales,
Which nature, injur’d by late law, sets free,
These miracles wee did; but now alas,
All measure, and all language, I should passe,
Should I tell what a miracle shee was.
THE LEGACIE
When I dyed last, and, Deare, I dye
As often as from thee I goe,
Though it be but an houre agoe,
And Lovers houres be full eternity,
I can remember yet, that I
Something did say, and something did bestow;
Though I be dead, which sent mee, I should be
Mine owne executor and Legacie.
I heard mee say, Tell her anon,
That my selfe, (that’s you, not I,)
Did kill me, and when I felt mee dye,
I bid mee send my heart, when I was gone,
But I alas could there finde none,
When I had ripp’d me, ’and search’d where hearts did lye,
It kill’d mee againe, that I who still was true,
In life, in my last Will should cozen you.
Yet I found something like a heart,
But colours it, and corners had,
It was not good, it was not bad,
It was intire to none, and few had part.
As good as could be made by art
It seem’d, and therefore for our losses sad,
I meant to send this heart in stead of mine,
But oh, no man could hold it, for twas thine.
THE DISSOLUTION
Shee’is dead; And all which die
To their first Elements resolve;
And wee were mutuall Elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And those things whereof I consist, hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My fire of Passion, sighes of ayre,
Water of teares, and earthly sad despaire,
Which my materialls bee,
But ne’r worne out by loves securitie,
Shee, to my losse, doth by her death repaire,
And I might live long wretched so
But that my fire doth with my fuell grow.
Now as those Active Kings
Whose foraine conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest breaker
This (which I am amaz’d that I can speake)
This death, hath with my store
My use encreas’d.
And so my soule more earnestly releas’d,
Will outstrip hers; As bullets flowen before
A latter bullet may o’rtake, the pouder being more.
THE PARADOX
No Lover saith, I love, nor any other
Can judge a perfect Lover;
Hee thinkes that else none can or will agree,
That any loves but hee:
I cannot say I lov’d, for who can say
Hee was kill’d yesterday.
Love with excesse of heat, more yong then old,
Death kills with too much cold;
Wee dye but once, and who lov’d last did die,
Hee that saith twice, doth lye:
For though hee seeme to move, and stirre a while,
It doth the sense beguile.
Such life is like the light which bideth yet
When the lifes light is set,
Or like the heat, which fire in solid matter
Leaves behinde, two houres after.
Once I lov’d and dyed; and am now become
Mine Epitaph and Tombe.
Here dead men speake their last, and so do I;
Lo
ve-slaine, loe, here I dye.
THE EXPIRATION
So, so, breake off this last lamenting kisse,
Which sucks two soules, and vapors Both away,
Turne thou ghost that way, and let mee turne this,
And let our selves benight our happiest day,
We aske none leave to love; nor will we owe
Any, so cheape a death, as saying, Goe;
Goe; and if that word have not quite kil’d thee,
Ease mee with death, by bidding mee goe too.
Oh, if it have, let my word worke on mee,
And a just office on a murderer doe.
Except it be too late, to kill me so,
Being double dead, going, and bidding, goe.
ELEGIES
ELEGIE XVI
On his Mistris
By our first strange and fatall interview,
By all desires which thereof did ensue,
By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
Which my words masculine perswasive force
Begot in thee, and by the memory
Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatned me,
I calmly beg. But by thy fathers wrath,
By all paines, which want and divorcement hath,
I conjure thee, and all the oathes which I
And thou have sworne to seale joynt constancy,
Here I unsweare, and overswear them thus,
Thou shalt not love by wayes so dangerous.
Temper, ô faire Love, loves impetuous rage,
Be my true Mistris still, not my faign’d Page;
I’ll goe, and, by thy kinde leave, leave behinde
Thee, onely worthy to nurse in my minde,
Thirst to come backe; ô if thou die before,
My soule from other lands to thee shall soare.
Thy (else Almighty) beautie cannot move
Rage from the Seas, nor thy love teach them love,
Nor tame wilde Boreas harshnesse; Thou has reade
How roughly hee in peeces shivered
Faire Orithea, whom he swore he lov’d.
Fall ill or good, ’tis madnesse to have prov’d
Dangers unurg’d; Feed on this flattery,
That absent Lovers one in th’other be.
Dissemble nothing, not a boy, nor change
Thy bodies habite, nor mindes; bee not strange
To thy selfe onely. All will spie in thy face
