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John Donne Selected Poems 作者：约翰·多恩投票推荐加入书签留言反馈

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THE RELIC.

 WHEN my grave is broke up again

 Some sed guest to eain,

 —Fraves have learnd that woman-head,

 To be to more than one a bed—

 Ahat digs it, spies

 A bracelet ht hair about the bone,

 Will he not let us alone,

 And think that there a loving couple lies,

 Who thought that this device might be some way

 To make their souls at the last busy da>..</a>y

 Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?

 If this fall in a time, or land,

 Where mass-devotion doth and,

 Thehat di９９lib?gs us up will bring

 Us to the bishop or the king,

 To make us relics ; then

 Thou shalt be<var></var> a Mary Magdalen, and I

 A something else thereby ;

 All women shall adore us, and some men.

 And, si such time miracles are sought,

 I would have that age by this paper taught

 What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.

 First we loved well and faithfully,

 Yet knew not what we loved, nor why ;

 Difference of sex we never knew,

 No more than guardian angels do ;

 ing and going we

 Perce might kiss, but not between those meals ;

 Our hands ouchd the seals,

 Whiature, injured by late law, sets free.

 These miracles we did ; but now alas !

 All measure, and all language, I should pass,

 Should I tell what a miracle she was.

 THE DAMP.

 WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why,

 And my friends curiosity

 Will have me cut up to survey each part,

 When they shall find your picture in my heart,

 You think a sudden damp of love

 Will thh all their senses move,

 And work on them as me, and so prefer

 Your murder to the name of massacre,

 Poor victories ; but if you dare be brave,

 And pleasure in your quest have,

 First kill th enormous giant, your Disdain ;

 Ah entress Honour, be slain ;

 And like a Goth and Vandal rise,

 Deface records and histories

 Of your own arts and triumphs over men,

 And without such advantage kill me then,

 For I could muster up, as well as you,

 My giants, and my witches too,

 Which are vast stand Seess ;

 But these I her look for nor profess ;

 Kill me as woma me die

 As a mere man ; do you but try

 Your passive valour, and you shall find then,

 Naked you have odds enough of any man.

 THE DISSOLUTION.

 SHEs dead ; and all which die

 To their first elements resolve ;

 And we were mutual elements to us,

 And made of one another.

 My body then doth hers involve,

 And those things whereof I sist hereby

 In me abundant grow, and burdenous,

 And nourish not, but smother.

 My fire of passion, sighs of air,

 Water of tears, ahly sad despair,

 Which my materials be,

 But near worn out by loves security,

 She, to my loss, doth by her death repair.

 And I might live long wretched so,

 But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.

 Now, as those active kings

 Whose fn quest treasure brings,

 Receive more, and spend more, and soo break,

 This —which I am amazed that I speak—

 This death, hath with my store

 My use increased.

 And so my soul, more early released,

 Will outstrip hers ; as bullets flown before

 A latter bullet may oertake, the powder being more.

 A JET RI.

 THOU art not so black as my heart,

 Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art ;

 What wouldst thou say ? shall both our properties by thee be spoke,

 —Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?

 Marriage rings are not of this stuff ;

 Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough

 Figure our loves ? except in thy hou have bid it say,

 "—Im cheap, and nought but fashion ; fling me away."

 Yet stay with me sihou art e,

 Circle this fiop, which didst her thumb ;

 Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me ;

 She that, O ! broke her faith, would soohee.

 <stroIVE LOVE.

 I oopd so low, as they

 Whi an eye, cheek, lip, prey ;

 Seldom to them which soar no higher

 Than virtue, or the mind to admire.

 For sense and uanding may

 Know what gives fuel to their fire ;

 My love, though silly, is more brave ;

 For may I miss, wheneer I crave,

 If I know yet what I would have.

 If that be simply perfectest,

 Which by no way be expressd

 But ives, my love is so.

 To all, which all love, I say no.

 If any who deciphers best,

 What we know not—ourselves— know,

 Let him teach me that nothing. This

 As yet my ease and fort is,

 Though I speed not, I iss.

 THE PROHIBITION.

 TAKE heed of loving me ;

 At least remember, I forbade it thee ;

 Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste

 Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,

 By being to thee then what to me thou wast ;

 But so great joy our life at owears.

 Thehy love by my death frustrate be,

 If thou love me, take heed of loving me.

 Take heed of hating me,

 Or too much triumph in the victory ;

 Not that I shall be mine own officer,

 And hate with hate agaialiate ;

 But thou wilt lose the style of queror,

 If I, thy quest, perish by thy hate.

 The my being nothing lessen thee,

 If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.

 Yet love and hate me too ;

 So these extremes shall heir office do ;

 Love me, that I may die the gentler way ;

 Hate me, because thy loves too great for me ;

 Or let these two, themselves, not me, decay ;

 So shall I live thy sta<bdo>藏书网</bdo>ge, not triumph be.

 Lest thou thy love and hate, and me undo,

 O let me live, yet love and hate me too.

 THE EXPIRATION.

 SO, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,

 Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away ;

 Turn, thou ghost, that way, a me turn this,

 A ourselves benight our happiest day.

 We ask none leave to love ; nor will we owe

 Any so cheap a death as saying, "Go."

 Go ; and if that word have not quite killed thee,

 Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.

 Or, if it have, let my word work on me,

 And a just offi a murderer do.

 Except it be too late, to kill me so,

 Being double dead, going, and bidding, "Go."

 THE PUTATION.

 FOR my first twenty years, since yesterday,

 I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away ;

 For forty more I fed on favours past,

 And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last ;

 Tears drownd one hundred, and sighs blew out two ;

 A thousand, I did her think nor do,

 Or not divide, all being ohought of you ;

 Or in a thousand more, fot that too.

 Yet call not this long life ; but think that I

 Am, by being dead, immortal ; ghosts die ?

 THE PARADOX.

 NO lover saith, I love, nor any other

 judge a perfect lover ;

 He thinks that else none or will agree,

 That any loves but he ;

 I ot say I loved, for who say

 He was killd yesterday.

 Love with excess of heat, more young than old,

 Death kills with too much cold ;

 We die but once, and who loved last did die,

 He that saith, twice, doth lie ;

 For though he seem to move, and stir a while,

 It doth the sense beguile.

 Such life is like the light which bideth yet

 When the lifes light is set,

 Or like the heat which fire in solid matter

 Leaves behind, two hours after.

 Once I loved and died ; and am now bee

 Miaph and tomb ;

 Here dead meheir last, and so do I ;

 Love-slain, lo ! here I die.

 SONG.

 SOULS joy, now I am gone,

 And you alone,

 —Which ot be,

 Since I must leave myself with thee,

 And carry thee with me—

 Yet when unto our eyes

 Absence denies

 Each others sight,

 And makes to us a stant night,

 When others ge to light ;

 O give no way to grief,

 But let belief

 Of mutual love

 This woo the vulgar prove,

 Our bodies, not we move.

 Let not thy wit beweep

 Words but sense deep ;

 For when we miss

 By distance our hopes joining bliss,

 Even then our souls shall kiss ;

 Fools have no means to meet,

 But by their feet ;

 Why should our clay

 Over our spirits so much sway,

 To tie us to that way?

 O give no way to grief, &c.

 FAREWELL TO LOVE.

 WHILST yet to prove

 I thought there was some deity in love,

 So did I reverence, and gave

 Worship ; as atheists at their dying hour

 Call, what they ot name, an unknown power,

 As ignorantly did I crave.

 Thus when

 Things not yet known are coveted by men,

 Our desires give them fashion, and so

 As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.

 But, from late fair,

 His highness sitting in a golden chair,

 Is not less cared for after three days

 By children, thahing which lovers so

 Blindly admire, and with such worship woo ;

 Being had, enjoying it decays ;

 And thence,

 What before pleased them all, takes but one sense,

 And that so lamely, as it leaves behind

 A kind of sorrowing dulo the mind.

 Ah ot we,

 As well as cocks and lions, jod be

 After such pleasures, unless wise

 Nature decreed—since each such act, they say,

 Dimihe length of life a day—

 This ; as she would man should despise

 The sport,

 Because that other curse of being short,

 And only for a minute made to be

 Eager, desires to raise posterity.

 Siny mind

 Shall not desire what no man else find ;

 Ill no more dote and run

 To pursue things which had endamaged me ;

 And when I e where moviies be,

 As men do when the summers sun

 Grows great,

 Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat.

 Each place afford shadows ; if all fail,

 Tis but applying worm-seed to the tail.

 A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW.

 STAND still, and I will read to thee

 A lecture, Love, in Loves philosophy.

 These three hours that we have spent,

 Walking here, two shadows went

 Along with us, which we ourselves produced.

 But, now the sun is just above our head,

 We do those shadows tread,

 And to brave clearness all things are reduced.

 So whilst our infant loves did grow,

 Disguises did, and shadows, flow

 From us and our cares ; but now tis not so.

 That love hath not attaind the highest degree,

 Which is still dilige others see.

 Except our loves at this noon stay,

 We shall new shadows make the other way.

 As the first were made to blind

 Others, these whie behind

 Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.

 If our loves faint, aerwardly dee,

 To me thou, falsely, thine

 And I to thee miions shall disguise.

 The m shadows wear away,

 But these grow longer all the day ;

 But O ! loves day is short, if love decay.

 Love is a growing, or full stant light,

 And his short minute, after noon, is night.

 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR HENRY WOTTON AND

 MR. DONNE.

 [W.]

 IF her disdai ge in you move,

 You do not love,

 For when that hope gives fuel to the fire,

 You sell desire.

 Love is not love, but given free ;

 And so is mine ; so should yours be.

 [D.]

 Her heart, that weeps to hear of others moan,

 To mine is stone.

 Her eyes, that weep a strangers eyes to see,

 Joy to wound me.

 Yet I so well affect each part,

 As—caused by them—I love my smart.

 [W.]

 Say her disdainings justly must be graced

 With name of chaste ;

 And that she frow longing should exceed,

 And raging breed ;

 So her disdains eer offend,

 Unless self-love take private end.

 [D.]

 Tis love breeds love in me, and cold disdain

 Kills that again,

 As water causeth fire to fret and fume,

 Till all e.

 Who of love more rich gift make,

 That to Loves self for loves own sake?

 Ill never dig in quarry of a

 To have no part,

 Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are

 icular.

 Who this way would a lover prove,

 May show his patienot his love.

 A frown may be sometimes for physic good,

 But not for food ;

 And for that raging humour there is sure

 A gentler cure.

 Why bar you love of private end,

 Whiever should to publid?

 THE TOKEN.

 SEND me some tokens, that my hope may live

 Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep a ;

 Send me some hoo make sweet my hive,

 That in my passions I may hope the best.

 I beg nor ribbht with thine own hands,

 To knit our loves in the fantastic strain

 Of ouchd youth ; n to show the stands

 Of our affe, that, as thats round and plain,

 So should our loves meet in simplicity ;

 No, nor the corals, which thy wrist enfold,

 Laced up together in gruity,

 To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold ;

 No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,

 And most desired, cause tis like the best

 Nor witty lines, which are most copious,

 Within the writings which thou hast addressd.

 Send me nor this nor that, to increase my score,

 But swear thou thinkst I love thee, and no more.

 SELF-LOVE.

 HE that ot choose but love,

 And strives against it still,

 Never shall my fancy move,

 For he loves against his will ;

 Nor he which is all his own,

 And ot pleasure choose ;

 When I am caught he be gone,

 And when he list refuse ;

 Nor he that loves fair,

 For such by all are sought ;

 Nor he that for foul ones care,

 For his judgement then is nought ;

 Nor he that hath wit, for he

 Will make me his jest or slave ;

 Nor a fool when others —

 He either —

 Nor he that still his mistress prays,

 For she is thralld therefore ;

 Nor he that pays, not, for he says

 Within, shes worth no more.

 Is there then no kind of men

 Whom I may freely prove?

 I will vent that humour then

 In mine own self-love.

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