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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
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London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Nature
Grave
Body
Graves
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Bodies
Souls
Keeps
Fame
Verse
Middle
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Heaven
Hath
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My love though silly is more brave.
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In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
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Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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This only is charity, to do all, all that we can.
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One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die.
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If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned alas why should I be?
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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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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
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Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.
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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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