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When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity.

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
Dies
Retirement
Though
Thee
Hours
Lovers
Lasts
Hour
Last
Dear
Often
Eternity
Love
Died
Full
Farewell

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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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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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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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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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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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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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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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God himself took a day to rest in, and a good man's grave is his Sabbath.
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Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.
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Let man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is.
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Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.
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The difference between the reason of man and the instinct of the beast is this, that the beast does but know, but the man knows that he knows.
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.
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Pleasure is none, if not diversified.
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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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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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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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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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