Donne, the delight of Phoebus, and each Muse, Who, to thy one, all other braines refuse; Whose every work, of thy most early wit, Came forth example, and remaines so, yet: Longer a knowing, than most wits do live; And which no affection praise enough can give! To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life, Which might with halfe mankind maintaine a strife; All which I meant to praise, and, yet, I would; But leave, because I cannot as I should! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING FOURTH BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 26. FIRST LOVE by THOMAS CAMPION REVELRY OF THE DYING by BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING UPON THE NIPPLES OF JULIA'S BREAST by ROBERT HERRICK TRAVEL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AUTUMN WOODS by ANNA M. ACKERMANN ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 10. TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ON ... POPE'S WORKS by MARK AKENSIDE |