Website review: John Donne (1572-1631)
Kip discovered this in British Literature
•5 reviews since Mar 9, 2004
british-literature
•luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/
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Kip discovered 53 months ago- And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
- kapka rated 5 months ago
John Donne was born in Bread Street, London in 1572 to a prosperous Roman Catholic family - a precarious thing at a time when anti-Catholic sentiment was rife in England. His father, John Donne, was a well-to-do ironmonger and citizen of London. Donne's father died suddenly in 1576, and left the three children to be raised by their mother, Elizabeth, who was the daughter of epigrammatist and playwright John Heywood and a relative of Sir Thomas More...
- Creamtangerine rated 9 months ago
- The works of John Donne. Many times I have been lost for hours on this page. THE MESSAGE. by John Donne SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me, Which, O ! too long have dwelt on thee ; Yet since there they have learn'd such ill, Such forced fashions, And false passions, That they be Made by thee Fit for no good sight, keep them still. Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain ; Which if it be taught by thine To make jestings Of protestings, And break both Word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may know, and see thy lies, And may laugh and joy, when thou Art in anguish And dost languish For some one That will none, Or prove as false as thou art now.
- vignette rated 15 months ago
- I had to recite this poem and years later, I still have it memorised. "Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three." SONG. by John Donne GO and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet, Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three. Source: Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I. E. K. Chambers, ed. London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 4-5.
- marielaem rated 16 months ago
OK - I am a dipshit. Donne's poetry just knifes me in the gut.
