poet John Donne

John Donne

#63 on top 500 poets

Comments about John Donne

  • Panmelys Panmelys Panmelys Panmelys (12/3/2014 11:09:00 AM)

    Very interesting comments. Not enjoying poems on love seems a great sadness, I'd like to quote that Love is never wasted, even when it doesn't last, lines by Panmelys a new member, myself. John Donne is a great favorite and brings much joy to many, this is greatness. Like many others in this period, it's amazing how modern they seem, in spite of the gabs between epochs. Panmelys

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  • Harvey Rabbit (8/30/2014 10:02:00 AM)

    The quote beginning Actually, if my business was legitimate, is not from John Donne, who was not a prostitute, did not have to deal with a corporate income tax, and would not likely have begun a sentence with actually. The real author appears to be Xaviera Hollander.

    25 person liked.
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  • Punky Daly John (1/10/2013 4:45:00 PM)

    i read this John Donne Poems in Chapters only once with inner peace music

    63 person liked.
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  • Grace Bunton (10/22/2012 9:54:00 PM)

    You forgot to mention that the first 2 stanzas of Go: and Catch a Falling Star were used in Diana Wynne Jones' book Howl's Moving Castle

    79 person liked.
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  • Shahzeb Azhar Shahzeb Azhar (5/16/2012 6:14:00 AM)

    Hi i don't like poems or story acording to love

    51 person liked.
    199 person did not like.
Best Poem of John Donne

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls, to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
'The breath goes now,' 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
Absence, because it ...

Read the full of A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

Holy Sonnet X

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,