Sunday, April 19, 2009

A poem by my boyfriend.

"The Will"

Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,
Great Love, some legacies ; I here bequeath
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see ;
If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee ;
My tongue to Fame ; to ambassadors mine ears ;
To women, or the sea, my tears ;
Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore
By making me serve her who had twenty more,
That I should give to none, but such as had too much before.

My constancy I to the planets give ;
My truth to them who at the court do live ;
My ingenuity and openness,
To Jesuits ; to buffoons my pensiveness ;
My silence to any, who abroad hath been ;
My money to a Capuchin :
Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me
To love there, where no love received can be,
Only to give to such as have an incapacity.

My faith I give to Roman Catholics ;
All my good works unto the Schismatics
Of Amsterdam ; my best civility
And courtship to an University ;
My modesty I give to soldiers bare ;
My patience let gamesters share :
Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me
Love her that holds my love disparity,
Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

I give my reputation to those
Which were my friends ; mine industry to foes ;
To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtfulness ;
My sickness to physicians, or excess ;
To nature all that I in rhyme have writ ;
And to my company my wit :
Thou, Love, by making me adore
Her, who begot this love in me before,
Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore.

To him for whom the passing-bell next tolls,
I give my physic books ; my written rolls
Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give ;
My brazen medals unto them which live
In want of bread ; to them which pass among
All foreigners, mine English tongue :
Though, Love, by making me love one
Who thinks her friendship a fit portion
For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.

Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo
The world by dying, because love dies too.
Then all your beauties will be no more worth
Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth ;
And all your graces no more use shall have,
Than a sun-dial in a grave :
Thou, Love, taught'st me by making me
Love her who doth neglect both me and thee,
To invent, and practise this one way, to annihilate all three.

--John Donne


Ink said...

Nice! (I've had a lit crush on John Donne too--ever since we read that compass poem in undergrad Brit Lit survey. Swoon.)

Moria said...

I mean, okay, swoon (you know me), but: "my boyfriend" led me to expect Neruda.


Renaissance Girl said...

Er, yeah. Don't tell Neruda.

the rebel lettriste said...

Langland is my boyfriend.

Renaissance Girl said...

Reb: My boyfriend is a little tiny bit, um, sexier than yours.

Renaissance Girl said...

(Though not in the portraits, right? GEEZ, Donne was a squirrelly-looking little dude, wasn't he?)

the rebel lettriste said...

All I know is that Langland went about in rags and bad shoes and didn't have a real job. HAWT, no?

Renaissance Girl said...

Sounds like my college boyfriend.

dkm said...

Boy you had me hooked, too. I was positive that Neruda was about to make a grand entrance, especially after your recent sequence of blog entry titles. Very clever :)

Flavia said...

Heh heh.