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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.

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
Hands
Licence
Roving
Seduction
Sex
Behinds
Behind

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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it and made fit for God.
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In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
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Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
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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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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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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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We love and understand talent we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.
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We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.
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Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
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The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.
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I shall not live 'till I see God and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.
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The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.
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