John Donne

,I am two fools, I know For loving, and for saying so ;In whining poetry ,But where’s that wiseman, that would not be I

When my grave is broke up again ,Some second guest to entertain ,For graves have learn’d that woman head) (To be to more than one a bed

Stand still, and I will read to thee .A lecture, love, in love’s philosophy ,These three hours that we have spent Walking here, two shadows went

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون دون، موجهة إلى عاشقة الشاعر، يطلب منها أن تتقبله عند عودته لها، على الرغم من حقيقة أنه سيبدو ويتصرف بشكل مختلف عما كان عليه.   ملخص قصيدة Elegy V His Picture   المعنى من القصيدة هو أنه على الرغم من أنّ طبيعة محبة المتحدث ستتغير، إلا أنه يعتقد بثقة كبيرة […]

هي قصيدة للشاعر جون دون (John Donne) كُتبت في عام 1609 وتم نشرها لأول مرة في عام 1633، إن القصيدة هي عنوان مباشر للموت، بحجة أنه لا حول له ولا قوة

,Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s‘ ;Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks

,He is stark mad, whoever says ,That he hath been in love an hour ,Yet not that love so soon decays ;But that it can ten in less space devour 

,Now thou has loved me one whole day ?Tomorrow when you leav’st, what wilt thou say ?Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow Or say that now

All Kings, and all their favourites All glory’ of honors, beauties, wits ,The Sun it selfe, which makes times, as they passe Is elder by a yeare, now, than it was

Dear love, for nothing less than thee ;Would I have broke this happy dream It was a theme ,For reason, much too strong for fantasy

,Twice or thrice had I loved thee ;Before I knew thy face or name ,So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame ;Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be

,Some that have deeper digg’d love’s mine than I ;Say, where his centric happiness doth lie ,I have lov’d, and got, and told ,But should I love, get, tell, till I were old

?Tis true, ’tis day; what though it be ?O wilt thou therefore rise from me ?Why should we rise, because ’tis light ?Did we lie down, because ’twas night

For the first twenty years since yesterday ;I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away ,For forty more I fed on favors past .And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last

Let me pour forth ,My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here ,For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear ,And by this mintage they are something worth

,For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love  ,Or chide my palsy, or my gout  ,My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune flout  ,With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve 

,Thou art not so black as my heart ;Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art  ,What would’st thou say ? shall both our properties by thee be spoke ?Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke—

,Little think’st thou, poor flower ,Whom I’ve watch’d six or seven days And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour ,Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise

,No man is an island .Entire of itself ,Each is a piece of the continent .A part of the main

I have done one braver thing ,Than all the Worthies did ,And yet a braver thence doth spring .Which is, to keep that hid

,As virtuous men pass mildly away ,And whisper to their souls to go Whilst some of their sad friends do say :The breath goes now, and some say, No

I scarce believe my love to be so pure ,As I had thought it was Because it doth endure ;Vicissitude, and season, as the grass

,Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm ,Nor question much ;That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm ;The mystery, the sign, you must not touch