John Donne - Delphi Poets Series Read Online Free Page A

nothing, yet thou ‘rt just,
Because I would not thy first motions trust;
Small towns which stand stiff, till great shot
Enforce them, by war’s law condition not;
Such in Love’s warfare is my case;
I may not article for grace,
Having put Love at last to show this face.
    This face, by which he could command
And change th’ idolatry of any land,
This face, which, wheresoe’er it comes,
Can call vow’d men from cloisters, dead from tombs,
And melt both poles at once, and store
Deserts with cities, and make more
Mines in the earth, than quarries were before.
    For this Love is enraged with me,
Yet kills not; if I must example be
To future rebels, if th’ unborn
Must learn by my being cut up and torn,
Kill, and dissect me, Love; for this
Torture against thine own end is;
Rack’d carcasses make ill anatomies.

CONFINED LOVE.
        Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
    Thought his pain and shame would be lesser,
If on womankind he might his anger wreak;
   And thence a law did grow,
   One might but one man know;
   But are other creatures so?
        Are sun, moon, or stars by law forbidden
To smile where they list, or lend away their light?
    Are birds divorced or are they chidden
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a night?
   Beasts do no jointures lose
   Though they new lovers choose;
   But we are made worse than those.
        Who e’er rigg’d fair ships to lie in harbours,
And not to seek lands, or not to deal with all?
    Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbours,
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
   Good is not good, unless
   A thousand it possess,
   But doth waste with greediness.

THE DREAM.
    DEAR love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
      It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou waked’st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brokest not, but continued’st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.
    As lightning, or a taper’s light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me;
      Yet I thought thee
 — For thou lovest truth — an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw’st my heart,
And knew’st my thoughts beyond an angel’s art,
When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and camest then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.
    Coming and staying show’d thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
      Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear’s as strong as he;
‘Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me;
Thou camest to kindle, go’st to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING.
          LET me pour forth
My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,
For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,
And by this mintage they are something worth.
      For thus they be
      Pregnant of thee;
Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more;
When a tear falls, that thou fall’st which it bore;
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.
          On a round ball
A workman, that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.
      So doth each tear,
      Which thee doth wear,
A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
Till thy tears mix’d with mine do overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolvèd so.
          O! more than moon,
Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere;
Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear
To teach the sea, what it may do too