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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!

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
Perplexed
Poor
Soul

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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.
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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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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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A man that is not afraid of a Lion is afraid of a Cat .
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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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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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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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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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Oft from new truths, and new phrase, new doubts grow, As strange attire aliens the men we know.
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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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Death, thou shalt die.
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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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