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Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
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London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Face
Angels
Faces
Twice
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Thee
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Angel
Shapeless
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Thrice
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Flame
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Flames

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I would not that death should take me asleep. I would not have him merely seize me, and only declare me to be dead, but win me, and overcome me. When I must shipwreck, I would do it in a sea, where mine impotency might have some excuse not in a sullen weedy lake, where I could not have so much as exercise for my swimming.
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When God's hand is bent to strike, it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God but to fall out of the hands of the living God is a horror beyond our expression, beyond our imagination.
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I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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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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There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.
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Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
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Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee.
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God made sun and moon to distinguish the seasons, and day and night and we cannot have the fruits of the earth but in their seasons. But God hath made no decrees to distinguish the seasons of His mercies. In Paradise the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in heaven it is always autumn. His mercies are ever in their maturity.
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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
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If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.
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My love though silly is more brave.
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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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God employs several translators some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
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