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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419688" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy XX (Alternate) Love's War</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till I have peace with thee, warr other Men, <br>And when I have peace, can I leave thee then? <br>All other Warrs are scrupulous; Only thou <br>0 fayr free Citty, maist thyselfe allow <br>To any one: In Flanders, who can tell <br>Whether the Master presse; or men rebell? <br>Only we know, that which all Ideots say, <br>They beare most blows which come to part the fray. <br>France in her lunatique giddines did hate <br>Ever our men, yea and our God of late; <br>Yet she relyes upon our Angels well, <br>Which nere returne; no more than they which fell. <br>Sick Ireland is with a strange warr possest <br>Like to an Ague; now raging, now at rest; <br>Which time will cure: yet it must doe her good <br>If she were purg'd, and her head vayne let blood. <br>And Midas joyes our Spanish journeys give, <br>We touch all gold, but find no food to live. <br>And I should be in the hott parching clime, <br>To dust and ashes turn'd before my time. <br>To mew me in a Ship, is to inthrall <br>Mee in a prison, that weare like to fall; <br>Or in a Cloyster; save that there men dwell <br>In a calme heaven, here in a swaggering hell. <br>Long voyages are long consumptions, <br>And ships are carts for executions. <br>Yea they are Deaths; Is't not all one to flye <br>Into an other World, as t'is to dye? <br>Here lett mee warr; in these armes lett mee lye; <br>Here lett mee parle, batter, bleede, and dye. <br>Thyne armes imprison me, and myne armes thee, <br>Thy hart thy ransome is, take myne for mee. <br>Other men war that they their rest may gayne; <br>But wee will rest that wee may fight agayne. <br>Those warrs the ignorant, these th'experienc'd love, <br>There wee are alwayes under, here above. <br>There Engins farr off breed a just true feare, <br>Neere thrusts, pikes, stabs, yea bullets hurt not here. <br>There lyes are wrongs; here safe uprightly ly; <br>Tltere men kill men, we'will make one by and by, <br>Thou nothing; I not halfe so much shall do <br>In these Warrs, as they may which from us two <br>Shall spring. Thousands wee see which travaile not <br>To warrs; But stay swords, armes, and shott <br>To make at home; And shall not I do then <br>More glorious service, staying to make men?</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=419688" data-title="Elegy XX (Alternate) Love's War de John Donne" data-description="Till I have peace with thee, warr other Men, 
And when I have peace, can I leave thee then? 
All other Warrs are scrupulous; Only thou 
0 fayr free Citty, maist thyselfe allow 
To any one: In Flanders, who can tell 
Whether the Master presse; or m..."></div>
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