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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.

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
Angels
Round
Rounds
Corners
Blow
Angel
Earth
Trumpets
Imagined

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If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.
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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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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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And when a whirl-winde hath blowne the dust of the Churchyard into the Church, and man sweeps out the dust of the Church into the Church-yard, who will undertake to sift those dusts again, and to pronounce, This is the Patrician, this is the noble flower, and this the yeomanly, this the Plebian bran.
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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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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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we give each other a smile with a future in it
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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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.
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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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O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
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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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At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole.
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But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.
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To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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