|
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread Our eyes upon one double string; So to'intergraft our hands, as yet Was all the means to make us one, And pictures in our eyes to get Was all our propagation. As 'twixt two equal armies fate Suspends uncertain victory, Our souls (which to advance their state Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me. And whilst our souls negotiate there, We like sepulchral statues lay; All day, the same our postures were, And we said nothing, all the day. If any, so by love refin'd That he soul's language understood, And by good love were grown all mind, Within convenient distance stood, He (though he knew not which soul spake, Because both meant, both spake the same) Might thence a new concoction take And part far purer than he came. This ecstasy doth unperplex, We said, and tell us what we love; We see by this it was not sex, We see we saw not what did move; But as all several souls contain Mixture of things, they know not what, Love these mix'd souls doth mix again And makes both one, each this and that. A single violet transplant, The strength, the colour, and the size, (All which before was poor and scant) Redoubles still, and multiplies. When love with one another so Interinanimates two souls, That abler soul, which thence doth flow, Defects of loneliness controls. We then, who are this new soul, know Of what we are compos'd and made, For th' atomies of which we grow Are souls. whom no change can invade. But oh alas, so long, so far, Our bodies why do we forbear? They'are ours, though they'are not we; we are The intelligences, they the spheres. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 138 We owe them thanks, because they thus Did us, to us, at first convey, Yielded their senses' force to us, Nor are dross to us, but allay. On man heaven's influence works not so, But that it first imprints the air; So soul into the soul may flow, Though it to body first repair. As our blood labors to beget Spirits, as like souls as it can, Because such fingers need to knit That subtle knot which makes us man, So must pure lovers' souls descend T' affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great prince in prison lies. To'our bodies turn we then, that so Weak men on love reveal'd may look; Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book. And if some lover, such as we, Have heard this dialogue of one, Let him still mark us, he shall see Small change, when we'are to bodies gone. John Donne www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 139 The Expiration So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away, Turn thou ghost that way, and let me turn this, And let our selves benight our happiest day, We ask none leave to love; nor will we owe Any, so cheap a death, as saying, Go; Go; and if that word have not quite kil'd thee, Ease me with death, by bidding me go too. Oh, if it have, let my word work on me, And a just office on a murderer do. Except it be too late, to kill me so, Being double dead, going, and bidding, go. John Donne www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 140 The Flea 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; Thou knowest that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead. Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered, swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do. Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, yea, more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is; Though parents grudge, and you, we are met And cloistered in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that self murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? Wherein could this flea guilty be Except in that drop which it sucked from thee? Yet thou triumph'st, and sayest that thou Find'st not thyself, nor me, the weaker now. 'Tis true, then learn how false fears be; Just so much honor, when thou yieldst to me, Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee. John Donne www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 141 The Funeral 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, For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution. For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall Through every part Can tie those parts, and make me one of all, Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art Have from a better brain, Can better do'it; except she meant that I By this should know my pain, As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die. Whate'er she meant by'it, bury it with me, For since I am Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry, If into other hands these relics came; As 'twas humility To afford to it all that a soul can do, So, 'tis some bravery, That since you would have none of me, I bury some of you. John Donne www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 142 The Funerall Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harme Nor question much That subtile wreath of haire, which crowns my arme; The mystery, the signe you must not touch, For'tis my outward Soule, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to controule, And keep these limbes, her Provinces, from dissolution. For if the sinewie thread my braine lets fall Through every part, Can tye those parts, and make mee one of all; These haires which upward grew, and strength and art Have from a better braine, Can better do'it; Except she meant that I By this should know my pain, As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die. What ere shee meant by'it, bury it with me, For since I am Loves martyr, it might breed idolatrie, If into others hands these Reliques came; As'twas humility To afford to it all that a Soule can doe, So,'tis some bravery, That since you would save none of mee, I bury some of you. John Donne www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 143 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 country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den? 'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room, an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
Odnośniki
|