Donne

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

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.

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.

               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.