John Donne - Delphi Poets Series

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Book: Read John Donne - Delphi Poets Series for Free Online
Authors: John Donne
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 we harmless lovers wrought.
           First we loved well and faithfully,
       Yet knew not what we loved, nor why;
       Difference of sex we never knew,
       No more than guardian angels do;
      Coming and going we
Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;
      Our hands ne’er touch’d the seals,
Which nature, injured by late law, sets free.
These miracles we did; but now alas!
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.

THE DAMP.
    WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why,
       And my friends’ curiosity
Will have me cut up to survey each part,
When they shall find your picture in my heart,
       You think a sudden damp of love
       Will thorough all their senses move,
And work on them as me, and so prefer
Your murder to the name of massacre,
    Poor victories; but if you dare be brave,
       And pleasure in your conquest have,
First kill th’ enormous giant, your Disdain;
And let th’ enchantress Honour, next be slain;
       And like a Goth and Vandal rise,
       Deface records and histories
Of your own arts and triumphs over men,
And without such advantage kill me then,
    For I could muster up, as well as you,
       My giants, and my witches too,
Which are vast Constancy and Secretness;
But these I neither look for nor profess;
       Kill me as woman, let me die
       As a mere man; do you but try
Your passive valour, and you shall find then,
Naked you have odds enough of any man.

THE DISSOLUTION.
        SHE’s dead; and all which die
   To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual 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, sighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthly sad despair,
       Which my materials be,
But near worn out by love’s security,
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair.
And I might live long wretched so,
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
   Now, as those active kings
    Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break,
This — which I am amazed that I can speak —
   This death, hath with my store
       My use increased.
And so my soul, more earnestly released,
Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before
A latter bullet may o’ertake, the powder being more.

A JET RING SENT.
    THOU art not so black as my heart,
    Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art;
What would’st thou say? shall both our properties by thee be spoke,
    — Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?
           Marriage rings are not of this stuff;
    Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough
Figure our loves? except in thy name thou have bid it say,
    “ — I’m cheap, and nought but fashion; fling me away.”
           Yet stay with me since thou art come,
    Circle this finger’s top, which didst her thumb;
Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me;
She that, O! broke her faith, would soon break thee.

NEGATIVE LOVE.
    I NEVER stoop’d so low, as they
Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey;
    Seldom to them which soar no higher
    Than virtue, or the mind to admire.
For sense and understanding may
    Know what gives fuel to their fire;
My love, though silly, is more brave;
For may I miss, whene’er I crave,
If I know yet what I would have.
    If that be simply perfectest,
Which can by no way be express’d
    But negatives, my love is so.
    To all, which all love, I say no.
If any who deciphers best,
    What we know not — ourselves — can

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