John Donne

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

At The Round Earth's Imagin'D Corners - Poem by John Donne

At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise
From death, you numberlesse infinities
Of soules, and to your scattered bodies goe,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom warre, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe.
But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,
For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,
'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,
When wee are there; here on this lowly ground,
Teach mee how to repent; for that's as good
As if thou’hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy blood.


Comments about At The Round Earth's Imagin'D Corners by John Donne

  • (4/2/2009 11:59:00 PM)


    a Donne deal...'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace' (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: fire, death, god



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2003



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