BLASTED with sighs, and surrounded with tears,
Hither I come to seek the spring,
And at mine eyes, and at mine ears,
Receive such balms as else cure every thing.
But O ! self-traitor, I do bring
The spider Love, which transubstantiates all,
And can convert manna to gall ;
And that this place may thoroughly be thought
True paradise, I have the serpent brought.
'Twere wholesomer for me that winter did
Benight the glory of this place,
And that a grave frost did forbid
These trees to laugh and mock me to my face ;
But that I may not this disgrace
Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me
Some senseless piece of this place be ;
Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here,
Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.
Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come,
And take my tears, which are love's wine,
And try your mistress' tears at home,
For all are false, that taste not just like mine.
Alas ! hearts do not in eyes shine,
Nor can you more judge women's thoughts by tears,
Than by her shadow what she wears.
O perverse sex, where none is true but she,
Who's therefore true, because her truth kills me.
John Donne's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Twickenham Garden by John Donne )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
Did you read them?
- Good circle, hasmukh amathalal
- Live with this moment, gajanan mishra
- The loss may be, hasmukh amathalal
- Stay free from desires, gajanan mishra
- G O P....Profiling - The Black Republican, James B. Earley
- Destroy not, gajanan mishra
- I Have Friends, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Leave It As That, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Love & Light, Maharishi Deja Vu
- Ill winds, gajanan mishra