Sonnet IV: Lies

Say not thou knew the nature of a man,
Whilst knowing not the nature of thy thought.
Dost not thou know such thought is of a plan
Which not thine own, should one day be untaught?

Though thou art vaccinated well against
The recognition of such ill intent,
Thine own cognition likewise is dispensed
Away from that such thoughts misrepresent.

But who then are thy lords, that shan’t thou see
Such twisting evil as through thee hath spun?
What are such words, as should so guarantee
That never shall such evil be undone:

Such lies, as evil men have told to thee;
Such damage, as their serpent’s words decree.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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John Donne: A Valediction Forbidding Mourning.

Italiano: Immagine del poeta John Donne Donne,...

Italiano: Immagine del poeta John Donne Donne, John (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was recently reminded of this poem by a commenter.  It made me think, as I have also recently been reminded of Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gently…”   That Donne might also be a champion of life extension scientists, due to the subject of death being so often present in his poetry.  I realise that he was speaking of God and Heaven when writing of the triumph over death, but even so, these works can be read in this other way as well.

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
“Now his breath goes,” and some say, “No.”

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers’ love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, ’cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

via John Donne: A Valediction Forbidding Mourning.

Sonnet III: Secret

For this thou speak, though doubtful would suppose,
Nor hesitate obliquely to confess.
Regarding friendship still, thou might obsess
Beyond all compass; thrill-swept, as the throes

Wherewith to cloy thyself so rapt, express
Thine own determined joy.  But not oppose
Desire desire‘s object might impose.
Conspired and familiar, this excess:

Unnamed delight, and wicked to implore,
This: framed–as though for art, or to explore,
Or greater havoc know–it would appear
Unleashed, a glow one nary could ignore
In life’s brief curtain: coy, intent, sincere
Thou wouldst covert revere; but not adore.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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Sonnet II: Unleashed

For this I want, though seldom would disclose;
Or hesitate to vaunt, or to posses.
Regarding friendship’s trial, I might obsess
Beyond consideration, while the throes

Wherewith I drown myself… so rapt, bestows
Determination bound.  But not unless
Desired, desire’s object might profess.
Admired and familiar, this repose

I name: delightful, wickedness. Revere
This touch I frame as art, or I implore,
Or even further; know this would appear
Unleashed, to go where one cannot ignore.
Severe and certain, certainly sincere,
Mine own to this explore, but not endear.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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Intro 2: His Form

The human body
Is not an object of shame,
But one of beauty.

Still, so intimate,
That I tend to hesitate,
When I write of it.

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