John Donne

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

John Donne Poems

1. The Soule 10/21/2014
2. Good Friday 10/21/2014
3. Psalme Cxxxvii. 10/21/2014
4. To Sir Henry Wotton 4/9/2010
5. To Sir Henry Goodyere 4/9/2010
6. To The Earl Of Doncaster 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. To Mr. I. P. 4/9/2010
13. Holy Sonnet Xi: Spit In My Face You Jews, And Pierce My Side 4/9/2010
14. To Mr.T.W. 4/9/2010
15. To The Countess Of Bedford Ii 4/9/2010
16. Nativity 4/9/2010
17. To Mr. Tilman After He Had Taken Orders 4/9/2010
18. To The Praise Of The Dead And The Anatomy 4/9/2010
19. To Mr. Rowland Woodward 4/9/2010
20. To Mr.I.L. 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. To Sir Henry Wotton At His Going Ambassador To Venice 4/9/2010
23. Elegy Xii 4/9/2010
24. The Annunciation And Passion 4/9/2010
25. Valediction To His Book 4/9/2010
26. Holy Sonnet Viii: If Faithful Souls Be Alike Glorified 4/9/2010
27. Raderus 4/9/2010
28. Satire V 4/9/2010
29. Fall Of A Wall 4/9/2010
30. The Harbinger 4/9/2010
31. Elegy Xi: The Bracelet 4/9/2010
32. Elegy:The End Of Funeral Elegies 4/9/2010
33. To The Lady Magdalen Herbert, Of St. Mary Magdalen 4/9/2010
34. Epithalamion Made At Lincoln's Inn 4/9/2010
35. Elegy Xiv: Julia 4/9/2010
36. Satire I 4/9/2010
37. Ralphius 4/9/2010
38. Satire Ii 4/9/2010
39. La Corona 4/9/2010
40. To The Countess Of Bedford I 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 Ecstasy

Where, like a pillow on a bed
A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest
The violet's reclining head,
Sat we two, one another's best.
Our hands were firmly cemented
With a fast balm, which thence did spring;
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
Our eyes upon one double string;
So to'intergraft our hands, as yet

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