John Donne
The Primrose, Being At Montgomery Castle Upon The Hill, On Which It Is Situate
Upon this Primrose hill,
Where, if heaven would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
And where their form, and their infinity
Make a terrestrial galaxy,
As the small stars do in the sky;
I walk to find a true love; and I see
That ’tis not a mere woman, that is she,
But must or more or less than woman be.
Yet know I not, which flower
I wish; a six, or four;
For should my true-love less than woman be,
She were scarce anything; and then, should she
Farewell To Love
Whilst yet to prove
I thought there was some deity in love,
So did I reverence, and gave
Worship ; as atheists at their dying hour
Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power,
As ignorantly did I crave.
Thus when
Things not yet known are coveted by men,
Our desires give them fashion, and so
As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.
But, from late fair,
His highness sitting in a golden chair,
Is not less cared for after three days
By children, than the thing which lovers so
A Jet Ring Sent
Thou art not so black as my heart,
Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art;
What would’st thou say? shall both our properties by thee be spoke,
—Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?
Marriage rings are not of this stuff;
Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough
Figure our loves? except in thy name thou have bid it say,
“—I’m cheap, and nought but fashion; fling me away.”
Yet stay with me since thou art come,
Circle this finger’s top, which didst her thumb;
