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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419682" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy XIII: His Parting From Her</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SINCE she must go, and I must mourn, come night, <br>Environ me with darkness, whilst I write ; <br>Shadow that hell unto me, which alone <br>I am to suffer when my love is gone. <br>Alas ! the darkest magic cannot do it, <br>Thou and great hell, to boot, are shadows to it. <br>Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus, and each star, <br>It would not form one thought dark as mine are. <br>I could lend them obscureness now, and say<br>Out of my self, there should be no more day. <br>Such is already my self-want of sight, <br>Did not the fire within me force a light. <br>O Love, that fire and darkness should be mix'd, <br>Or to thy triumphs such strange torments fix'd ! <br>Is it because thou thyself art blind, that we, <br>Thy martyrs, must no more each other see ? <br>Or takest thou pride to break us on the wheel, <br>And view old Chaos in the pains we feel ? <br>Or have we left undone some mutual rite, <br>That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spite ? <br>No, no. The fault is mine, impute it to me, <br>Or rather to conspiring destiny, <br>Which, since I loved in jest before, decreed<br>That I should suffer, when I loved indeed ; <br>And therefore, sooner now than I can say, <br>I saw the golden fruit, 'tis rapt away ; <br>Or as I'd watch'd one drop in the vast stream, <br>And I left wealthy only in a dream. <br>Yet, Love, thou'rt blinder than myself in this, <br>To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss ; <br>And where one sad truth may expiate <br>Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate. <br>So blinded justice doth, when favourites fall, <br>Strike them, their house, their friends, their favourites all. <br>Was't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires <br>Into our bloods, inflaming our desires, <br>And madest us sigh, and blow, and pant, and burn, <br>And then thyself into our flames didst turn ? <br>Was't not enough that thou didst hazard us <br>To paths in love so dark and dangerous, <br>And those so ambush'd round with household spies, <br>And over all thy husband's towering eyes, <br>Inflamed with th' ugly sweat of jealousy ; <br>Yet went we not still on in constancy ? <br>Have we for this kept guards, like spy on spy ? <br>Had correspondence whilst the foe stood by ? <br>Stolen, more to sweeten them, our many blisses <br>Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses ? <br>Shadow'd with negligence our best respects ? <br>Varied our language through all dialects <br>Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards <br>Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words ? <br>Have we proved all the secrets of our art, <br>Yea, thy pale inwards, and thy panting heart ? <br>And, after all this passed purgatory, <br>Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story ? <br>First let our eyes be riveted quite through <br>Our turning brain, and both our lips grow to ; <br>Let our arms clasp like ivy, and our fear <br>Freeze us together, that we may stick here, <br>Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed, <br>Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed. <br>For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto <br>I have accused, should such a mischief do. <br>O Fortune, thou'rt not worth my least exclaim, <br>And plague enough thou hast in thy own name. <br>Do thy great worst ; my friend and I have charms, <br>Though not against thy strokes, against thy harms. <br>Rend us in sunder ; thou canst not divide <br>Our bodies so, but that our souls are tied, <br>And we can love by letters still and gifts, <br>And thoughts and dreams ; love never wanteth shifts. <br>I will not look upon the quickening sun, <br>But straight her beauty to my sense shall run ; <br>The air shall note her soft, the fire, most pure ; <br>Waters suggest her clear, and the earth sure. <br>Time shall not lose our passages ; the spring, <br>How fresh our love was in the beginning ; <br>The summer, how it ripen'd in the year ; <br>And autumn, what our golden harvests were ; <br>The winter I'll not think on to spite thee, <br>But count it a lost season ; so shall she. <br>And dearest friend, since we must part, drown night <br>With hope of day—burdens well borne are light— ; <br>The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, <br>Yet Phoebus equally lights all the sphere ; <br>And what we cannot in like portion pay <br>The world enjoys in mass, and so we may. <br>Be then ever yourself, and let no woe <br>Win on your health, your youth, your beauty ; so <br>Declare yourself base Fortune's enemy, <br>No less be your contempt than her inconstancy ; <br>That I may grow enamour'd on your mind, <br>When mine own thoughts I here neglected find. <br>And this to the comfort of my dear I vow, <br>My deeds shall still be what my deeds are now ; <br>The poles shall move to teach me ere I start ; <br>And when I change my love, I'll change my heart. <br>Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire, <br>Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world, fire. <br>Much more I could, but many words have made <br>That oft suspected which men most persuade. <br>Take therefore all in this ; I love so true, <br>As I will never look for less in you.</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=419682" data-title="Elegy XIII: His Parting From Her de John Donne" data-description="SINCE she must go, and I must mourn, come night, 
Environ me with darkness, whilst I write ; 
Shadow that hell unto me, which alone 
I am to suffer when my love is gone. 
Alas ! the darkest magic cannot do it, 
Thou and great hell, to boot, are sh..."></div>
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