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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.

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
Thou
Shall
Gone
Dies
Hate
Art
Women

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Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock breathe, shine, and seek to mend That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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Poor heretics there be,Which think to establish dangerous constancy,But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,You shall be true to them, who are false to you.
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Death, thou shalt die.
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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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Let man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is.
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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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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
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Of all the commentaries on the Scriptures, good examples are the best.
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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 be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure Time shall not lose our passages.
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If we consider eternity, into that time never entered eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.
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