Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou 'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die! 1633. John Donne. I "I KNOW THAT ALL BENEATH THE MOON DECAYS" I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays, To which one morn oft birth and death affords, That love a jarring is of minds' accords, Where sense and will invassal reason's power: Know what I list, this all cannot me move, But that, O me! I both must write and love. 1616. 2 FOR THE BAPTIST THE last and greatest herald of Heaven's King, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he than man more harmless found and mild. His food was locusts, and what young doth spring, 1623. 3 TO HIS LUTE My lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 1616. SONNETS I ON HIS BEING ARRIVED AT THE How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye. 1631. 1645. II. TO THE NIGHTINGALE O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May; Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate ¦ Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh: As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why; Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate. Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 1645. III WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower; To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 1642. 1645. |