Donne with the world

John Donne: Poet, cleric, master of metaphysic, at your service. Oxford educated, and awarded an honorary doctorate in divinity from Cambridge. Royal Chaplain, Minister formerly at Lincoln's Inn and now serving as Dean of St. Paul's.

[donnewiththesefools]

I do much appreciate these images of the farther reaches of the heavens. But I do wonder where God sits. Why has he not been captured in any of these as he surely has to be somewhere in his kingdom? 

[realsurrealfeel]

[donnewiththesefools]

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run, And do run still, though still I do deplore? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sin their door? Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score? When thou hast done, thou hast not done, For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore; And, having done that, thou hast done; I fear no more.

[the-wolf-and-moon]

Cluster SDSS J1038+4849, The Jovial Face

[into-theuniverse]

Carina Nebula Dust Pillar

[just--space]

[donnewiththesefools]

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

[donnewiththesefools]

A Response From William Shakespeare Regarding My Marital Dispute

Shakespeare: Perhaps she is bitter with aspects of your person as well...

Myself: What! That my leg is too long, perhaps?

Shakespeare: No! That it is too little!

Myself: Lord have mercy *with great disappointment*

Shakespeare: *clearly satisfied* I have mind to use that in my work!

[donnewiththesefools]

A Response From Ben Johnson Regarding my Marital Dispute

Johnson: Write thy Lady a sonnet, Ladies love sonnets.

Myself: Such uninvolved thinking would be nearly insufferable.

Johnson: Wow, pretentious aren't we?

[donnewiththesefools]

Wife Trouble

Anne is fuming over my flirtations with another young lady in towne today. I didn't think much of it and the remnants of my younger self fancied it quite a bit, but she is in near refusal to so much as speak to me. I know not what to do for her to make her happy again.

[donnewiththesefools]

A Sonnet By Spenser

What guile is this, that those her golden tresses She doth attire under a net of gold; And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses, That which is gold or hair, may scarce be told? Is it that men’s frail eyes, which gaze too bold, She may entangle in that golden snare; And being caught may craftily enfold Their weaker hearts, which are not yet well aware? Take heed therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net, In which if ever ye entrapped are, Out of her bands ye by no means shall get. Folly it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden be.

Spencer's sonnets are so engaging. Far more so than Shakespeare. A far more intellectual form.

[jackskellingt-n]

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed: But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest in his shade When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare (via jackskellingt-n)

Shakespeare's finest sonnet I should say. It is lovely of him to take such a beaten and pulped theme as found in many sonnets and turn it on its head like so. 

[la-vida-segun-manny]

[donnewiththesefools]

One of my greatest metaphysical works. 

Meant to provoke thought and feeling outside of the realm of physical existence. 

[donnewiththesefools]

On the Anniversary of My Marriage

My beloved wife Anne and I met and married despite the wishes of my employer at the time Sir Thomas Egerton, her uncle. It got me thrown into prison for a short time but it is well worth it. She has given me ten lovely children and I will mourn her greatly when she departs from the earth

[donnewiththesefools]

About Himself:

I was born to a Roman-Catholic family in a time of great persecution in England. Fortunately, my father avoided negative attention of the government. My father died when i was merely four years of age, leaving my mother to raise their six children. At eleven years of age, I was enrolled in  Hart Hall, Oxford. After 3 years I began study at the University of Cambridge. My younger self indulged himself in women, literature, travel, and other fineries. I was then appointed Chief Secretary to Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, Sir Thomas Egerton. I received a doctorate in divinity in 1615, and became a Royal Chaplain, triggering a string of positions across England. I died in 1631 of stomach cancer.