The Love Poems Of John Donne

The Love Poems Of John Donne

by John Donne


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The Love Poems Of John Donne by John Donne

Born in 1572 in London England, John Donne was an English Jacobean poet of exceptional skill, whose poetry was known for its vibrancy of language and inventiveness of metaphor. While Donne was well educated and his poetic talents considerable he struggled for much of his life to provide for his family. Having published only two volumes during his lifetime, he was not a professional poet. Despite this his legacy on the world of poetry is a significant one. In this volume you will find a representative selection of his "love-poetry", a type of poetry popular in Donne's time. In total seventy-two passionate and erotic poems comprise this volume of "The Love Poems of John Donne".

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781420932430
Publisher: Neeland Media
Publication date: 01/01/2009
Pages: 100
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.24(d)

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THE PRIMROSE BEING AT MONTGOMERY CASTLE6 UPON THE HILL ON WHICH IT IS SITUATE Upon this Primrose hill — Where, if heaven would distil A shower of rain, each several drop might go To his own primrose, and grow manna so ; And where their form, and their infinity Make a terrestrial galaxy, As the small stars do in the sky — I walk to find a true love; and I see That 'tis not a mere woman, that is she, But must or more or less than woman be. Yet know I not, which flower I wish ; a six, or four ; For should my true-love less than woman be, She were scarce anything ; and then, should she Be more than woman, she would get above All thought of sex, and think to move My heart to study her, and not to love. Both these were monsters; since there must reside Falsehood in woman, I could more abide, She were by art, than nature falsified. Live, primrose, then, and thrive With thy true number five ; And, woman, whom this flower doth represent, With this mysterious number be content; Ten is the farthest number ; if half ten Belong unto each woman, then Each woman may take half us men ; Or—if this will not serve their turn — since all Numbers are odd or even, and they fall First into five, women may take us all. THE BLOSSOM 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, And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough, Little think'st thou, That it will freeze anon, and that I shall To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all. Little think'st thou, poor heart, That labourest yet to nestle thee, And think'st by hovering here to get a pan In a forbidden or forbiddingtree, And hopst her stiffness by long siege to bo...

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