Donne Read online

  THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK

  PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

  This selection by Peter Washington first published in Everyman’s Library, 1995

  Copyright © 1995 by Everyman’s Library

  Seventh printing (US)

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Distributed by Random House, Inc., New York. Published in the United Kingdom by Everyman’s Library, Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT. Distributed by Random House (UK) Ltd.

  US website: www.randomhouse.com/everymans

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-375-71265-4

  ISBN 978-0-679-44467-1 (US)

  978-1-85713-722-2 (UK)

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Donne, John, 1572–1631.

  [Poems. Selections]

  Poems / John Donne.

  p. cm.—(Everyman’s library pocket poets)

  Includes index.

  ISBN 978-0-679-44467-1

  I. Title. II. Series.

  PR2246 1995 95-15330

  821’.3—dc20 CIP

  v3.1

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  SONGS AND SONNETS

  The Good Morrow

  Song (Goe, and catche a falling starre)

  The Sunne Rising

  The Flea

  The Canonization

  The triple Foole

  Womans constancy

  Song (Sweetest love, I do not goe)

  Aire and Angels

  The Anniversarie

  Twicknam Garden

  The Dreame

  Loves Alchymie

  Loves growth

  The Indifferent

  Loves Usury

  Loves Deitie

  The Message

  A nocturnall upon S. Lucies day

  Witchcraft by a picture

  The Baite

  A Valediction forbidding mourning

  A Valediction of weeping

  The Extasie

  The Will

  The Apparition

  A Lecture upon the Shadow

  The Relique

  The Legacie

  The Dissolution

  The Paradox

  The Expiration

  ELEGIES

  Elegie XVI On his Mistris

  Elegie XIX To his Mistress Going to Bed

  Elegie XVII

  SATIRES

  Satyre I

  Satyre II

  Satyre III

  Satyre IV

  Satyre V

  LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD

  Reason is our Soules left hand

  You have refin’d me

  T’have written then

  This twilight of two yeares

  Honour is so sublime perfection

  Though I be dead

  THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY

  An Anatomy of the World

  HOLY SONNETS

  Thou hast made me

  I am a little world

  Annunciation

  Nativitie

  O might those sighes

  This is my playes last scene

  At the round earths imagin’d corners

  Why are wee by all creatures waited on?

  What if this present were the worlds last night?

  Batter my heart, three-person’d God

  Since she whom I lov’d hath payd her last debt

  Show me deare Christ

  Death be not proud

  DIVINE POEMS

  Resurrection, imperfect

  Goodfriday, 1613. Riding Westward

  A Hymne to Christ, at the Authors last going into Germany

  Hymne to God my God, in my sicknesse

  A Hymne to God the Father

  The Litanie (I–XIII)

  From PARADOXES AND PROBLEMS

  From IGNATIUS HIS CONCLAVE

  From THE SERMONS, ESSAYS AND DEVOTIONS

  Index of First Lines

  SONGS AND SONNETS

  THE GOOD-MORROW

  I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I

  Did, till we lov’d? were we not wean’d till then?

  But suck’d on countrey pleasures, childishly?

  Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den?

  T’was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee

  If ever any beauty I did see,

  Which I desir’d, and got, t’was but a dreame of thee.

  And now good morrow to our waking soules,

  Which watch not one another out of feare;

  For love, all love of other sights controules,

  And makes one little roome, an every where.

  Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,

  Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have showne,

  Let us possesse one world, each hath one, and is one.

  My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares,

  And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest,

  Where can we finde two better hemispheares

  Without sharpe North, without declining West?

  What ever dyes, was not mixt equally;

  If our two loves be one, or, thou and I

  Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.

  SONG

  Goe, and catche a falling starre,

  Get with child a mandrake roote,

  Tell me, where all past yeares are,

  Or who cleft the Divels foot,

  Teach me to heare Mermaides singing,

  Or to keep off envies stinging,

  And finde

  What winde

  Serves to advance an honest minde.

  If thou beest borne to strange sights,

  Things invisible to see,

  Ride ten thousand daies and nights,

  Till age snow white haires on thee,

  Thou, when thou retorn’st, wilt tell mee

  All strange wonders that befell thee,

  And sweare

  No where

  Lives a woman true, and faire.

  If thou findst one, let mee know,

  Such a Pilgrimage were sweet,

  Yet doe not, I would not goe,

  Though at next doore wee might meet,

  Though shee were true, when you met her,

  And last, till you write your letter,

  Yet shee

  Will bee

  False, ere I come, to two, or three.

  THE SUNNE RISING

  Busie old foole, unruly Sunne,

  Why dost thou thus,

  Through windowes, and through curtaines call on us?

  Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

  Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide

  Late schoole boyes and sowre prentices,

  Goe tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride,

  Call countrey ants to harvest offices;

  Love, all alike, no season knowes, nor clyme,

  Nor houres, dayes, moneths, which are the rags of time.

  Thy beames, so reverend, and strong

  Why shouldst thou thinke?

  I could eclipse and cloud them with a winke,

  But that I would not lose her sight so long:

  If her eyes have not blinded thine,

  Looke, and to morrow late, tell mee,

  Whether both the’India’s of spice and Myne

  Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with mee.

  Aske for those Kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,

  And thou shalt heare, All here in one bed lay.

  She’is all States, and all Princes, I,

  Nothing else
is.

  Princes doe but play us, compar’d to this,

  All honor’s mimique; All wealth alchimie;

  Thou sunne art halfe as happy’as wee,

  In that the world’s contracted thus.

  Thine age askes ease, and since thy duties bee

  To warme the world, that’s done in warming us.

  Shine here to us, and thou art every where;

  This bed thy center is, these walls, thy spheare.

  THE FLEA

  Marke but this flea, and marke in this,

  How little that which thou deny’st me is;

  It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,

  And in this flea, our two bloods mingled bee;

  Thou know’st that this cannot be said

  A sinne, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,

  Yet this enjoyes before it wooe,

  And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two

  And this, alas, is more then wee would doe.

  Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,

  Where wee almost, yea more then maryed are.

  This flea is you and I, and this

  Our mariage bed, and mariage temple is;

  Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met,

  And cloystered in these living walls of Jet.

  Though use make you apt to kill mee,

  Let not to that, selfe murder added bee,

  And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three.

  Cruell and sodaine, hast thou since

  Purpled thy naile, in blood of innocence?

  Wherein could this flea guilty bee,

  Except in that drop which it suckt from thee?

  Yet thou triumph’st, and saist that thou

  Find’st not thy selfe, nor mee the weaker now;

  ’Tis true, then learne how false, feares bee;

  Just so much honor, when thou yeeld’st to mee,

  Will wast, as this flea’s death tooke life from thee.

  THE CANONIZATION

  For Godsake hold your tongue, and let me love,

  Or chide my palsie, or my gout,

  My five gray haires, or ruin’d fortune flout,

  With wealth your state, your minde with Arts improve,

  Take you a course, get you a place,

  Observe his honour, or his grace,

  Or the King’s reall, or his stamped face

  Contemplate, what you will, approve,

  So you will let me love.

  Alas, alas, who’s injur’d by my love?

  What merchants ships have my sighs drown’d?

  Who saies my teares have overflow’d his ground?

  When did my colds a forward spring remove?

  When did the heats which my veines fill

  Adde one more to the plaguie Bill?

  Soldiers finde warres, and Lawyers finde out still

  Litigious men, which quarrels move,

  Though she and I do love.

  Call us what you will, wee are made such by love;

  Call her one, mee another flye,

  We’are Tapers too, and at our owne cost die,

  And wee in us finde the’Eagle and the dove,

  The Phœnix ridle hath more wit

  By us, we two being one, are it.

  So, to one neutrall thing both sexes fit,

  Wee dye and rise the same, and prove

  Mysterious by this love.

  Wee can dye by it, if not live by love,

  And if unfit for tombes and hearse

  Our legend bee, it will be fit for verse;

  And if no peece of Chronicle wee prove,

  We’ll build in sonnets pretty roomes;

  As well a well wrought urne becomes

  The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombes,

  And by these hymnes, all shall approve

  Us Canoniz’d for Love.

  And thus invoke us; You whom reverend love

  Made one anothers hermitage;

  You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage,

  Who did the whole worlds soule contract, and drove

  Into the glasses of your eyes

  So made such mirrors, and such spies,

  That they did all to you epitomize,

  Countries, Townes, Courts: Beg from above

  A patterne of our love.

  THE TRIPLE FOOLE

  I am two fooles, I know,

  For loving, and for saying so

  In whining Poëtry;

  But where’s that wiseman, that would not be I,

  If she would not deny?

  Then as th’earths inward narrow crooked lanes

  Do purge sea waters fretfull salt away,

  I thought, if I could draw my paines,

  Through Rimes vexation, I should them allay,

  Griefe brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,

  For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

  But when I have done so,

  Some man, his art and voice to show,

  Doth Set and sing my paine,

  And, by delighting many, frees againe

  Griefe, which verse did restraine.

  To Love, and Griefe tribute of Verse belongs,

  But not of such as pleases when’tis read,

  Both are increased by such songs:

  For both their triumphs so are published,

  And I, which was two fooles, do so grow three;

  Who are a little wise, the best fooles bee.

  WOMANS CONSTANCY

  Now thou hast lov’d me one whole day,

  To morrow when thou leav’st, what wilt thou say?

  Wilt thou then Antedate some new made vow?

  Or say that now

  We are not just those persons, which we were?

  Or, that oathes made in reverentiall feare

  Of Love, and his wrath, any may forsweare?

  Or, as true deaths, true maryages untie,

  So lovers contracts, images of those,

  Binde but till sleep, deaths image, them unloose?

  Or, your owne end to Justifie,

  For having purpos’d change, and falsehood; you

  Can have no way but falsehood to be true?

  Vaine lunatique, against these scapes I could

  Dispute, and conquer, if I would,

  Which I abstaine to doe,

  For by to morrow, I may thinke so too.

  SONG

  Sweetest love, I do not goe,

  For wearinesse of thee,

  Nor in hope the world can show

  A fitter Love for mee,

  But since that I

  Must dye at last, ’tis best,

  To use my selfe in jest

  Thus by fain’d deaths to dye;

  Yesternight the Sunne went hence,

  And yet is here to day,

  He hath no desire nor sense,

  Nor halfe so short a way:

  Then feare not mee,

  But beleeve that I shall make

  Speedier journeyes, since I take

  More wings and spurres than hee.

  O how feeble is mans power,

  That if good fortune fall,

  Cannot adde another houre,

  Nor a lost houre recall!

  But come bad chance,

  And wee joyne to’it our strength,

  And wee teach it art and length,

  It selfe o’r us to’advance.

  When thou sigh’st, thou sigh’st not winde,

  But sigh’st my soule away,

  When thou weep’st, unkindly kinde,

  My lifes blood doth decay.

  It cannot bee

  That thou lov’st mee, as thou say’st,

  If in thine my life thou waste,

  Thou art the best of mee.

  Let not thy divining heart

  Forethinke me any ill,

  Destiny may take thy part,

  And may thy feares fulfill,

  But thinke that wee

  Are but turn’d aside to sleepe; />
  They who one another keepe

  Alive, ne’r parted bee.

  AIRE AND ANGELS

  Twice or thrice had I loved thee,

  Before I knew thy face or name;

  So in a voice, so in a shapelesse flame,

  Angells affect us oft, and worship’d bee,

  Still when, to where thou wert, I came

  Some lovely glorious nothing I did see,

  But since, my soule, whose child love is,

  Takes limmes of flesh, and else could nothing doe,

  More subtile than the parent is,

  Love must not be, but take a body too,

  And therefore what thou wert, and who

  I did Love aske, and now

  That it assume thy body, I allow,

  And fixe it selfe in thy lip, eye, and brow.

  Whilst thus to ballast love, I thought,

  And so more steddily to have gone,

  With wares which would sinke admiration,

  I saw, I had loves pinnace overfraught,

  Ev’ry thy haire for love to worke upon

  Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;

  For, nor in nothing, nor in things

  Extreme, and scattring bright, can love inhere;

  Then as an Angell, face, and wings

  Of aire, not pure as it, yet pure doth weare,

  So thy love may be my loves spheare;

  Just such disparitie

  As is twixt Aire and Angells puritie,

  T’wixt womens love, and mens will ever bee.

  THE ANNIVERSARIE

  All Kings, and all their favorites,

  All glory of honors, beauties, wits,

  The Sun it selfe, which makes times, as they passe,

  Is elder by a yeare, now, then it was

  When thou and I first one another saw:

  All other things, to their destruction draw,

  Only our love hath no decay;

  This, no to morrow hath, nor yesterday,

  Running it never runs from us away,

  But truly keepes his first, last, everlasting day.

  Two graves must hide thine and my coarse,

  If one might, death were no divorce,

  Alas, as well as other Princes, wee,

  (Who Prince enough in one another bee,)

  Must leave at last in death, these eyes, and eares,

  Oft fed with true oathes, and with sweet salt teares;

  But soules where nothing dwells but love