Poems by John Donne
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Oh do not die, for I shall hate
In what torn ship soever I embark,
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
I am unable, yonder beggar cries,
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
Let me pour forth
Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Some man unworthy to be possessor
Fond woman, which wouldst have thy husband die,
Marry, and love thy Flavia, for she
Although thy hand and faith, and good works too,
Once, and but once found in thy company,
No spring nor summer Beauty hath such grace
Here take my picture; though I bid farewell,
Oh, let me not serve so, as those men serve
Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love,
As the sweet sweat of roses in a still,
Image of her whom I love, more than she,
By our first strange and fatal interview,
Who ever loves, if he do not propose
No man is an island,
Tho has made me, and shall thy work decay?
As due by many titles I resign
O might those sighs and tears return again
Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
I am a little world made cunningly
This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint
At the round earth's imagined corners blow
If faithful souls be alike glorified
Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Spit in my face you Jews, and pierce my side,
Why are we by all creatures waited on?
What if this present were the world's last night?
Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest,
Father, part of his double interest
Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt
Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear.
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
For every hour that thou wilt spare me now
I never stoop'd so low, as they
He that cannot choose but love,
Go and catch a falling star,
When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead,
Come live with me, and be my love,
He is stark mad, who ever says,
For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,
When I am dead, and doctors know not why,
She's dead; and all which die
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Where, like a pillow on a bed
So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
I can love both fair and brown,
When I died last, and, Dear, I die
Send home my long stray'd eyes to me,
No Lover saith, I love, nor any other
Upon this Primrose hill,
Take heed of loving me;
Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Send me some token, that my hope may live,
I am two fools, I know—
I fix mine eye on thine, and there
Now thou hast loved me one whole day,