John Donne - Delphi Poets Series

by John Donne

  And though they be not fair, ‘tis much with me

  To win their love only for their degree.

  And though I fail of my required ends,

  The attempt is glorious and itself commends.

  How happy were our sires in ancient time,

  Who held plurality of loves no crime.

  With them it was accounted charity

  To stir up race of all indifferently;

  Kindred were not exempted from the bands,

  Which with the Persian still in usage stands.

  Women were then no sooner ask’d than won,

  And what they did was honest and well done.

  But since this little Honour hath been used,

  Our weak credulity hath been abused;

  The golden laws of nature are repeal’d,

  Which our first fathers in such reverence held;

  Our liberty reversed and charters gone;

  And we made servants to Opinion;

  A monster in no certain shape attired,

  And whose original is much desired,

  Formless at first, but growing on its fashions,

  And doth prescribe manners and laws to nations.

  Here love received immedicable harms,

  And was despoiled of his daring arms;

  A greater want than is his daring eyes,

  He lost those awful wings with which he flies,

  His sinewy bow and those immortal darts,

  With which he is wont to bruise resisting hearts.

  Only some few, strong in themselves and free,

  Retain the seeds of ancient liberty,

  Following that part of love although depress’d,

  Yet make a throne for him within their breast,

  In spite of modern censures him avowing

  Their sovereign, all service him allowing.

  Amongst which troop although I am the least,

  Yet equal in perfection with the best,

  I glory in subjection of his hand,

  Nor ever did decline his least command;

  For in whatever form the message came

  My heart did open and receive the same,

  But time will in his course a point descry

  When I this lovèd service must deny;

  For our allegiance temporary is;

  With firmer age returns our liberties.

  What time in years and judgment we reposed,

  Shall not so easily be to change disposed,

  Nor to the art of several eyes obeying,

  But beauty with true worth securely weighing;

  Which being found assembled in some one

  We’ll leave her ever, and love her alone.

  ELEGY XIX.

  LOVES PROGRESS

  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.

  Love is a bear-whelp born: if we o’er-lick

  Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take,

  We err, and of a lump a monster make.

  Were not a calf a monster, that were grown

  Faced like a man, though better than his own?

  Perfection is in unity; prefer

  One woman first, and then one thing in her.

  I, when I value gold, may think upon

  The ductileness, the application,

  The wholesomeness, the ingenuity,

  From rust, from soil, from fire ever free;

  But if I love it, ‘tis because ‘tis made

  By our new nature, use, the soul of trade.

  All this in women we might think upon,

  — If women had them — and yet love but one.

  Can men more injure women than to say

  They love them for that, by which they’re not they?

  Makes virtue woman? must I cool my blood

  Till I both be, and find one wise and good?

  May barren angels love so. But if we

  Make love to woman, virtue is not she,

  As beauty is not, nor wealth. He that strays thus

  From her to hers is more adulterous

  Than if he took her maid. Search every sphere

  And firmament, our Cupid is not there.

  He’s an infernal God, and underground

  With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound.

  Men to such gods their sacrificing coals

  Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes.

  Although we see celestial bodies move

  Above the earth, the earth we till and love.

  So we her airs contemplate, words and heart,

  And virtues, but we love the centric part.

  Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit

  For love, than this, as infinite as it.

  But in attaining this desired place

  How much they err, that set out at the face?

  The hair a forest is of ambushes,

  Of springes, snares, fetters, and manacles;

  The brow becalms us when ‘tis smooth and plain,

  And when ‘tis wrinkled, shipwrecks us again;

  Smooth, ‘tis a paradise, where we would have

  Immortal stay, but wrinkled ‘tis a grave.

  The nose, like to the first meridian, runs

  Not ‘twixt an east and west, but ‘twixt two suns;

  It leaves a cheek, a rosy hemisphere,

  On either side, and then directs us where

  Upon the islands fortunate we fall,

  Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial,

  Her swelling lips, to which when we are come,

  We anchor there, and think ourselves at home,

  For they seem all; there Sirens’ songs and there

  Wise Delphic oracles do fill the ear.

  There, in a creek where chosen pearls do swell,

  The remora, her cleaving tongue, doth dwell.

  These and the glorious promontory, her chin,

  O’erpast, and the straight Hellespont between

  The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts,

  Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests,

  Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye

  Some island moles may scattered there descry;

  And sailing towards her India, in that way

  Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay.

  Though there the current be the pilot made,

  Yet, ere thou be where thou shouldst be embay’d,

  Thou shalt upon another forest set,

  Where many shipwreck, and no further get.

  When thou art there, consider what this chase

  Misspent by thy beginning at the face.

  Rather set out below; practise thy art;

  Some symmetry the foot hath with that part

  Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that,

  Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at.

  Least subject to disguise and change it is;

  Men say the devil never can change his;

  It is the emblem that hath figured

  Firmness; ‘tis the first part that comes to bed.

  Civility we see refined; the kiss,

  Which at the face began, transplanted is,

  Since to the hand, since to the imperial knee,

  Now at the papal foot delights to be.

  If kings think that the nearer way, and do

  Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too;

  For, as free spheres move faster far than can

  Birds, whom the air resists, so may that man

  Which goes this empty and ethereal way,

  Than if at beauty’s elements he stay.

  Rich Nature in women wisely made

  Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid.

  They then which to the lower tribute owe,

  That way which that exchequer looks must go;

  He which doth not, his error is as great,

  As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.
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  ELEGY XX.

  TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED.

  COME, madam, come, all rest my powers defy;

  Until I labour, I in labour lie.

  The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,

  Is tired with standing, though he never fight.

  Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glittering,

  But a far fairer world encompassing.

  Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,

  That th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopp’d there.

  Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime

  Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.

  Off with that happy busk, which I envy,

  That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.

  Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,

  As when from flowery meads th’ hill’s shadow steals.

  Off with your wiry coronet, and show

  The hairy diadems which on you do grow.

  Off with your hose and shoes; then softly tread

  In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.

  In such white robes heaven’s angels used to be

  Revealed to men; thou, angel, bring’st with thee

  A heaven-like Mahomet’s paradise; and though

  Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know

  By this these angels from an evil sprite;

  Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.

  Licence my roving hands, and let them go

  Before, behind, between, above, below.

  O, my America, my Newfoundland,

  My kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d,

  My mine of precious stones, my empery;

  How am I blest in thus discovering thee!

  To enter in these bonds, is to be free;

  Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.

  Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee;

  As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be

  To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use

  Are like Atlanta’s ball cast in men’s views;

  That, when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem,

  His earthly soul might court that, not them.

  Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made

  For laymen, are all women thus array’d.

  Themselves are only mystic books, which we

  — Whom their imputed grace will dignify —

  Must see reveal’d. Then, since that I may know,

  As liberally as to thy midwife show

  Thyself; cast all, yea, this white linen hence;

  There is no penance due to innocence:

  To teach thee, I am naked first; why then,

  What needst thou have more covering than a man?

  ELEGY XX (ALTERNATE)

  LOVE’S WAR

  Till I have peace with thee, warr other Men,

  And when I have peace, can I leave thee then?

  All other Warrs are scrupulous; Only thou

  O fayr free Citty, maist thyselfe allow

  To any one: In Flanders, who can tell

  Whether the Master presse; or men rebell?

  Only we know, that which all Ideots say,

  They beare most blows which come to part the fray.

  France in her lunatique giddines did hate

  Ever our men, yea and our God of late;

  Yet she relyes upon our Angels well,

  Which nere returne; no more than they which fell.

  Sick Ireland is with a strange warr possest

  Like to an Ague; now raging, now at rest;

  Which time will cure: yet it must doe her good

  If she were purg’d, and her head vayne let blood.

  And Midas joyes our Spanish journeys give,

  We touch all gold, but find no food to live.

  And I should be in the hott parching clime,

  To dust and ashes turn’d before my time.

  To mew me in a Ship, is to inthrall

  Mee in a prison, that weare like to fall;

  Or in a Cloyster; save that there men dwell

  In a calme heaven, here in a swaggering hell.

  Long voyages are long consumptions,

  And ships are carts for executions.

  Yea they are Deaths; Is’t not all one to flye

  Into an other World, as t’is to dye?

  Here lett mee warr; in these armes lett mee lye;

  Here lett mee parle, batter, bleede, and dye.

  Thyne armes imprison me, and myne armes thee,

  Thy hart thy ransome is, take myne for mee.

  Other men war that they their rest may gayne;

  But wee will rest that wee may fight agayne.

  Those warrs the ignorant, these th’experienc’d love,

  There wee are alwayes under, here above.

  There Engins farr off breed a just true feare,

  Neere thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea bullets hurt not here.

  There lyes are wrongs; here safe uprightly ly;

  Tltere men kill men, we’will make one by and by,

  Thou nothing; I not halfe so much shall do

  In these Warrs, as they may which from us two

  Shall spring. Thousands wee see which travaile not

  To warrs; But stay swords, armes, and shott

  To make at home; And shall not I do then

  More glorious service, staying to make men?

  DIVINE POEMS

  This collection of poems was first published in 1607, at a time when Donne was serving as a minor lawyer, following his dismissal for marrying his employer’s daughter without permission. The poems reveal his fervent faith and devout nature, somewhat at odds with the risqué and witty content of some of the songs and sonnets. Donne later became a priest of the Anglican Church in 1615 and was appointed royal chaplain later that year. In 1621 he was named Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral. He attained eminence as a preacher, delivering sermons that are regarded by many as the most eloquent of his time.

  St Paul’s Cathedral, close to the time that Donne became Dean

  CONTENTS

  TO THE EARL OF DONCASTER WITH SIX HOLY SONNETS.

  LA CORONA.

  ANNUNCIATION.

  NATIVITY.

  TEMPLE.

  CRUCIFYING.

  RESURRECTION.

  ASCENSION.

  TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT, OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

  TO THE EARL OF DONCASTER WITH SIX HOLY SONNETS.

  SEE, sir, how, as the sun’s hot masculine flame

  Begets strange creatures on Nile’s dirty slime,

  In me your fatherly yet lusty rhyme

  — For these songs are their fruits — have wrought the same.

  But though th’ engend’ring force from which they came

  Be strong enough, and Nature doth admit

  Seven to be born at once; I send as yet

  But six; they say the seventh hath still some maim.

  I choose your judgment, which the same degree

  Doth with her sister, your invention, hold,

  As fire these drossy rhymes to purify,

  Or as elixir, to change them to gold.

  You are that alchemist, which always had

  Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad.

  LA CORONA.

  Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,

  Weaved in my lone devout melancholy,

  Thou which of good hast, yea, art treasury,

  All changing unchanged Ancient of days.

  But do not with a vile crown of frail bays

  Reward my Muse’s white sincerity;

  But what Thy thorny crown gain’d, that give me,

  A crown of glory, which doth flower always.

  The ends crown our works, but Thou crown’st our ends,

  For at our ends begins our endless rest.

  The first last end, now zealously possess’d,

  With a strong sober thirst my so
ul attends.

  ‘Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high;

  Salvation to all that will is nigh.

  ANNUNCIATION.

  Salvation to all that will is nigh;

  That All, which always is all everywhere,

  Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,

  Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,

  Lo! faithful Virgin, yields Himself to lie

  In prison, in thy womb; and though He there

  Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet He’ll wear,

  Taken from thence, flesh, which death’s force may try.

  Ere by the spheres time was created thou

  Wast in His mind, who is thy Son, and Brother;

  Whom thou conceivest, conceived; yea, thou art now

  Thy Maker’s maker, and thy Father’s mother,

  Thou hast light in dark, and shutt’st in little room

  Immensity, cloister’d in thy dear womb.

  NATIVITY.

  Immensity, cloister’d in thy dear womb,

  Now leaves His well-beloved imprisonment.

  There he hath made himself to his intent

  Weak enough, now into our world to come.

  But O! for thee, for Him, hath th’ inn no room?

  Yet lay Him in this stall, and from th’ orient,

  Stars, and wise men will travel to prevent

  The effects of Herod’s jealous general doom.

  See’st thou, my soul, with thy faith’s eye, how He

  Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?

  Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,

  That would have need to be pitied by thee?

  Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,

  With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.

  TEMPLE.

  With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe,

  Joseph, turn back; see where your child doth sit,

  Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit,

  Which Himself on the doctors did bestow.

  The Word but lately could not speak, and lo!

  It suddenly speaks wonders; whence comes it,

  That all which was, and all which should be writ,

  A shallow seeming child should deeply know?

  His Godhead was not soul to His manhood,

  Nor had time mellow’d Him to this ripeness;

  But as for one which hath a long task, ‘tis good,

  With the sun to begin His business,

  He in His age’s morning thus began,

  By miracles exceeding power of man.

  CRUCIFYING.

  By miracles exceeding power of man,

  He faith in some, envy in some begat,

  For, what weak spirits admire, ambitious hate:

  In both affections many to Him ran.