All Poems

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The Bait

© John Donne

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

Love's Deity

© John Donne

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the God of Love was born:
I cannot think that he, who then loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.

Holy Sonnet VII: At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners Blow

© John Donne

At the round earth's imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.

The Funeral

© John Donne

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much
That subtle wreath of hair which crowns my arm;
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,

Break Of Day

© John Donne

'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise? because 'tis light?
Did we lie down, because 'twas night?
Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.

Air And Angels

© John Donne

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name,
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,
Angels affect us oft, and worship'd be;

The Sun Rising

© John Donne

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

The Triple Fool

© John Donne

I am two fools, I know
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry;
But where's that wiseman that would not be I,

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

© John Donne

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:

Song (Go And Catch A Falling Star)

© John Donne

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the Devil's foot,

The Broken Heart

© John Donne

He is stark mad, who ever says,
That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decays,
But that it can ten in less space devour;

The Flea

© John Donne

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deny'st me is;
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;

The Good-Morrow

© John Donne

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then,
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?

For Whom The Bell Tolls

© John Donne

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.

Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud

© John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Holy Sonnet XIV: Batter My Heart, Three-Personed God

© John Donne

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

A True Story, for Jeremy

Jeremy hit the ball today,
over the fence and far away.
So very, very far away

The Desk, for Jeremy

There is a child I used to know
who sat, perhaps, at this same desk
where you sit now, and made a mess
of things sometimes. I wonder how
he learned at all ...