John Donne

(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631 / London, England)

John Donne Poems

1. Psalme Cxxxvii. 10/21/2014
2. Good Friday 10/21/2014
3. The Soule 10/21/2014
4. To Sir Henry Wotton 4/9/2010
5. To Sir Henry Goodyere 4/9/2010
6. To Mr. Tilman After He Had Taken Orders 4/9/2010
7. Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus 4/9/2010
8. Translated Out Of Gazaeus, 4/9/2010
9. To Sir Henry Wotton Ii 4/9/2010
10. Klockius 4/9/2010
11. To Mr. Samuel Brooke 4/9/2010
12. Holy Sonnet Xi: Spit In My Face You Jews, And Pierce My Side 4/9/2010
13. To The Earl Of Doncaster 4/9/2010
14. To Mr.T.W. 4/9/2010
15. To The Countess Of Bedford Ii 4/9/2010
16. To The Praise Of The Dead And The Anatomy 4/9/2010
17. La Corona 4/9/2010
18. To Mr. Rowland Woodward 4/9/2010
19. To Mr.I.L. 4/9/2010
20. To The Lady Magdalen Herbert, Of St. Mary Magdalen 4/9/2010
21. Upon The Translation Of The Psalms By Sir Philip Sidney And The Countess Of Pembroke, His Sister 4/9/2010
22. Epithalamion Made At Lincoln's Inn 4/9/2010
23. To Mr. I. P. 4/9/2010
24. To Sir Henry Wotton At His Going Ambassador To Venice 4/9/2010
25. To The Countess Of Bedford I 4/9/2010
26. Satire V 4/9/2010
27. Raderus 4/9/2010
28. Ralphius 4/9/2010
29. Valediction To His Book 4/9/2010
30. Holy Sonnet Xv: Wilt Thou Love God 4/9/2010
31. Holy Sonnet Xix: Oh, To Vex Me, Contraries Meet In One 4/9/2010
32. Satire Ii 4/9/2010
33. Satire I 4/9/2010
34. The Harbinger 4/9/2010
35. Elegy Xi: The Bracelet 4/9/2010
36. Nativity 4/9/2010
37. Elegy Xii 4/9/2010
38. Crucifying 4/9/2010
39. Elegy Xx (Alternate) Love's War 4/9/2010
40. Fall Of A Wall 4/9/2010
Best Poem of John Donne

No Man Is An Island

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

Read the full of No Man Is An Island

The Bait

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

[Hata Bildir]