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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Remember
Think
Wilt
Thinking
Claim
Thou
Mercy
Debt
Claims
Forget

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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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...Whatever dies was not mixed equally, If our two loves be one Or thou and I love so alike That none can slacken, none can die.
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Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
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It is too little to call man a little world Except God, man is a diminutive to nothing.
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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The distance from nothing to a little, is ten thousand times more, than from it to the highest degree in this life.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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Poor heretics there be,Which think to establish dangerous constancy,But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,You shall be true to them, who are false to you.
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How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.
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Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.
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ask not for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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O how feeble is man's power, that if good fortune fall, cannot add another hour, nor a lost hour recall!
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Between these two, the denying of sins, which we have done, and the bragging of sins, which we have not done, what a space, what a compass is there, for millions of millions of sins!
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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There is nothing that God hath established in a constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a Miracle, and exercise our admiration, if it were done but once.
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As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.
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