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Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrols.

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
Middle
Verses
Heaven
Hath
Nature
Grave
Body
Graves
Soul
Bodies
Souls
Keeps
Fame
Verse

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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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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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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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Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.
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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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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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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
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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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O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.
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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.
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To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent to a competent I must answer.
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Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. For in best understandings sin began, Angels sinn'd first, then devils, and then man. Only perchance beasts sin not wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity.
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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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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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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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