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Great sorrows cannot speak.

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
Sorrows
Sorrow
Speak
Cannot
Great

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Death, thou shalt die.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
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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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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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Eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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My love though silly is more brave.
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When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
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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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The day breaks not, it is my heart.
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Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
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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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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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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
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ask not for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee
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