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John Donne (1572-1631)

English poet

All other things, to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay.

JOHN DONNE, The Anniversary

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will some new pleasure prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.


If I dream I have you, I have you,
For, all our joys are but fantastical.


I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic sprite.

JOHN DONNE, Annunciation

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys.

JOHN DONNE, To His Mistress Going to Bed

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

JOHN DONNE, The Anagram

No Spring, nor Summer beauty hath such grace,
As I have seen in one Autumnal face.

JOHN DONNE, The Autumnal

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains call us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

JOHN DONNE, The Sun Rising

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death.

JOHN DONNE, Annunciation

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

JOHN DONNE, The Sun Rising

Call us what you will, we are made such by love.

JOHN DONNE, The Canonization

Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow,
And for our children we reserve tomorrow.

JOHN DONNE, "An Anatomy of the World", The Complete English Poems

We can die by it, if not live by love,
And if unfit for tombs and hearse
Our legend be, it will be fit for verse.

JOHN DONNE, The Canonization

O how feeble is man's power,
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall!


Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
But yet the body is his book.

JOHN DONNE, The Ecstasy

Poor cozened cozener, that she, and that thou,
Which did begin to love, are neither now;
You are both fluid, changed since yesterday;
Next day repairs, (but ill) last day's decay.

JOHN DONNE, "Of the Progress of the Soul", The Complete English Poems

If we consider eternity, into that time never entered; eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.

JOHN DONNE, Book of Devotions

Howling is the noise of hell, singing the voice of heaven.


Lust-bred diseases rot thee.

JOHN DONNE, "The Bracelet", The Complete English Poems

John Donne Poems - a collection of his poetry.

John Donne Bibliography - a bibliography, including list of critical resources.


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