Diary of the Plague Year: Day 40 24 April 2020: Quotidian Poetry: Eight Metaphysical Poets John Donne (1572-1631)

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from the HOLY SONNETS

vii

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 taste 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.

FROM:

Eight Metaphysical Poets

Edited with an Introduction
and Notes by
Jack Dalglish

Poetry Bookshelf
Heinemann
London

 

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