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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419663" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Anatomy Of The World...</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,<br> Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one<br> (For who is sure he hath a soul, unless<br> It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,<br> And by deeds praise it? He who doth not this,<br> May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his)<br> When that queen ended here her progress time,<br> And, as t'her standing house, to heaven did climb,<br> Where loath to make the saints attend her long,<br> She's now a part both of the choir, and song;<br> This world, in that great earthquake languished;<br> For in a common bath of tears it bled,<br> Which drew the strongest vital spirits out;<br> But succour'd then with a perplexed doubt,<br> Whether the world did lose, or gain in this,<br> (Because since now no other way there is,<br> But goodness, to see her, whom all would see,<br> All must endeavour to be good as she)<br> This great consumption to a fever turn'd,<br> And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd;<br> And, as men think, that agues physic are,<br> And th' ague being spent, give over care,<br> So thou, sick world, mistak'st thy self to be<br> Well, when alas, thou'rt in a lethargy.<br> Her death did wound and tame thee then, and then<br> Thou might'st have better spar'd the sun, or man.<br> That wound was deep, but 'tis more misery<br> That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.<br> 'Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan,<br> But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown.<br> Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast<br> Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast.<br> For, as a child kept from the font until<br> A prince, expected long, come to fulfill<br> The ceremonies, thou unnam'd had'st laid,<br> Had not her coming, thee her palace made;<br> Her name defin'd thee, gave thee form, and frame,<br> And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name.<br> Some months she hath been dead (but being dead,<br> Measures of times are all determined)<br> But long she'ath been away, long, long, yet none<br> Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.<br> But as in states doubtful of future heirs,<br> When sickness without remedy impairs<br> The present prince, they're loath it should be said,<br> 'The prince doth languish,' or 'The prince is dead;'<br> So mankind feeling now a general thaw,<br> A strong example gone, equal to law,<br> The cement which did faithfully compact<br> And glue all virtues, now resolv'd, and slack'd,<br> Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead,<br> Or that our weakness was discovered<br> In that confession; therefore spoke no more<br> Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore.<br> But though it be too late to succour thee,<br> Sick world, yea dead, yea putrified, since she<br> Thy' intrinsic balm, and thy preservative,<br> Can never be renew'd, thou never live,<br> I (since no man can make thee live) will try,<br> What we may gain by thy anatomy.<br> Her death hath taught us dearly that thou art<br> Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part.<br> Let no man say, the world itself being dead,<br> 'Tis labour lost to have discovered<br> The world's infirmities, since there is none<br> Alive to study this dissection;<br> For there's a kind of world remaining still,<br> Though she which did inanimate and fill<br> The world, be gone, yet in this last long night,<br> Her ghost doth walk; that is a glimmering light,<br> A faint weak love of virtue, and of good,<br> Reflects from her on them which understood<br> Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,<br> The twilight of her memory doth stay,<br> Which, from the carcass of the old world free,<br> Creates a new world, and new creatures be<br> Produc'd. The matter and the stuff of this,<br> Her virtue, and the form our practice is.<br> And though to be thus elemented, arm<br> These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm,<br> (For all assum'd unto this dignity<br> So many weedless paradises be,<br> Which of themselves produce no venomous sin,<br> Except some foreign serpent bring it in)<br> Yet, because outward storms the strongest break,<br> And strength itself by confidence grows weak,<br> This new world may be safer, being told<br> The dangers and diseases of the old;<br> For with due temper men do then forgo,<br> Or covet things, when they their true worth know.<br> There is no health; physicians say that we<br> At best enjoy but a neutrality.<br> And can there be worse sickness than to know<br> That we are never well, nor can be so?<br> We are born ruinous: poor mothers cry<br> That children come not right, nor orderly;<br> Except they headlong come and fall upon<br> An ominous precipitation.<br> How witty's ruin! how importunate<br> Upon mankind! It labour'd to frustrate<br> Even God's purpose; and made woman, sent<br> For man's relief, cause of his languishment.<br> They were to good ends, and they are so still,<br> But accessory, and principal in ill,<br> For that first marriage was our funeral;<br> One woman at one blow, then kill'd us all,<br> And singly, one by one, they kill us now.<br> We do delightfully our selves allow<br> To that consumption; and profusely blind,<br> We kill our selves to propagate our kind.<br> And yet we do not that; we are not men;<br> There is not now that mankind, which was then,<br> When as the sun and man did seem to strive,<br> (Joint tenants of the world) who should survive;<br> When stag, and raven, and the long-liv'd tree,<br> Compar'd with man, died in minority;<br> When, if a slow-pac'd star had stol'n away<br> From the observer's marking, he might stay<br> Two or three hundred years to see't again,<br> And then make up his observation plain;<br> When, as the age was long, the size was great<br> (Man's growth confess'd, and recompens'd the meat),<br> So spacious and large, that every soul<br> Did a fair kingdom, and large realm control;<br> And when the very stature, thus erect,<br> Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct.<br> Where is this mankind now? Who lives to age,<br> Fit to be made Methusalem his page?<br> Alas, we scarce live long enough to try<br> Whether a true-made clock run right, or lie.<br> Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow,<br> And for our children we reserve tomorrow.<br> So short is life, that every peasant strives,<br> In a torn house, or field, to have three lives.<br> And as in lasting, so in length is man<br> Contracted to an inch, who was a span;<br> For had a man at first in forests stray'd,<br> Or shipwrack'd in the sea, one would have laid<br> A wager, that an elephant, or whale,<br> That met him, would not hastily assail<br> A thing so equall to him; now alas,<br> The fairies, and the pigmies well may pass<br> As credible; mankind decays so soon,<br> We'are scarce our fathers' shadows cast at noon,<br> Only death adds t'our length: nor are we grown<br> In stature to be men, till we are none.<br> But this were light, did our less volume hold<br> All the old text; or had we chang'd to gold<br> Their silver; or dispos'd into less glass<br> Spirits of virtue, which then scatter'd was.<br> But 'tis not so; w'are not retir'd, but damp'd;<br> And as our bodies, so our minds are cramp'd;<br> 'Tis shrinking, not close weaving, that hath thus<br> In mind and body both bedwarfed us.<br> We seem ambitious, God's whole work t'undo;<br> Of nothing he made us, and we strive too,<br> To bring our selves to nothing back; and we<br> Do what we can, to do't so soon as he.<br> With new diseases on our selves we war,<br> And with new physic, a worse engine far.<br> Thus man, this world's vice-emperor, in whom<br> All faculties, all graces are at home<br> (And if in other creatures they appear,<br> They're but man's ministers and legates there<br> To work on their rebellions, and reduce<br> Them to civility, and to man's use);<br> This man, whom God did woo, and loath t'attend<br> Till man came up, did down to man descend,<br> This man, so great, that all that is, is his,<br> O what a trifle, and poor thing he is!<br> If man were anything, he's nothing now;<br> Help, or at least some time to waste, allow<br> T'his other wants, yet when he did depart<br> With her whom we lament, he lost his heart.<br> She, of whom th'ancients seem'd to prophesy,<br> When they call'd virtues by the name of she;<br> She in whom virtue was so much refin'd,<br> That for alloy unto so pure a mind<br> She took the weaker sex; she that could drive<br> The poisonous tincture, and the stain of Eve,<br> Out of her thoughts, and deeds, and purify<br> All, by a true religious alchemy,<br> She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou knowest this,<br> Thou knowest how poor a trifling thing man is,<br> And learn'st thus much by our anatomy,<br> The heart being perish'd, no part can be free,<br> And that except thou feed (not banquet) on<br> The supernatural food, religion,<br> Thy better growth grows withered, and scant;<br> Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.<br> Then, as mankind, so is the world's whole frame<br> Quite out of joint, almost created lame,<br> For, before God had made up all the rest,<br> Corruption ent'red, and deprav'd the best;<br> It seiz'd the angels, and then first of all<br> The world did in her cradle take a fall,<br> And turn'd her brains, and took a general maim,<br> Wronging each joint of th'universal frame.<br> The noblest part, man, felt it first; and then<br> Both beasts and plants, curs'd in the curse of man.<br> So did the world from the first hour decay,<br> That evening was beginning of the day,<br> And now the springs and summers which we see,<br> Like sons of women after fifty be.<br> And new philosophy calls all in doubt,<br> The element of fire is quite put out,<br> The sun is lost, and th'earth, and no man's wit<br> Can well direct him where to look for it.<br> And freely men confess that this world's spent,<br> When in the planets and the firmament<br> They seek so many new; they see that this<br> Is crumbled out again to his atomies.<br> 'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone,<br> All just supply, and all relation;<br> Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot,<br> For every man alone thinks he hath got<br> To be a phoenix, and that then can be<br> None of that kind, of which he is, but he.<br> This is the world's condition now, and now<br> She that should all parts to reunion bow,<br> She that had all magnetic force alone,<br> To draw, and fasten sund'red parts in one;<br> She whom wise nature had invented then<br> When she observ'd that every sort of men<br> Did in their voyage in this world's sea stray,<br> And needed a new compass for their way;<br> She that was best and first original<br> Of all fair copies, and the general<br> Steward to fate; she whose rich eyes and breast<br> Gilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East;<br> Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow<br> Spice on those Isles, and bade them still smell so,<br> And that rich India which doth gold inter,<br> Is but as single money, coin'd from her;<br> She to whom this world must it self refer,<br> As suburbs or the microcosm of her,<br> She, she is dead; she's dead: when thou know'st this,<br> Thou know'st how lame a cripple this world is<br>....</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Donne">John Donne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419663" data-title="An Anatomy Of The World... de John Donne" data-description="When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,
 Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one
 (For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
 It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,
 And by deeds praise it? He who doth not this,
 May lodge an inmate..."></div>
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