The Lighthouse

the lighthouse

16 August 2012


Good Morrow, by John Donne

I wonder, by my truth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved
And now good morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp North, without declining West?
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one; or thou and I
Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.

I don't know why it is.  I can't quite put my finger on it, as it is one of those things that always wiggles just beyon my reach:  I love the poetry, the words, of John Donne.

Yes, they're almost clunky, dense in imagery, old-fashioned in scheme and structure, and I don't always understand what it is he's conveying - but, like music, they bypass my mind for my heart.

I am undone by Donne.

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