#holy sonnets

[lifeisatrial]

Ok, hear me out guys (or don’t, this is gonna be worse and even more niche than the Paolo Hewitt / Paul Weller thing). Noel/Liam poetry in the style of John Donne’s Holy Sonnets. Yes? Yes.

[burningvelvet]

“Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, / Take me to you, imprison me, for I, / Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, / Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”

Excerpt from Holy Sonnets: Holy Sonnet XIV aka Batter my heart, three-person'd God (1633) by John Donne / Sculptures by Stephan Sinding at the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen; Tapmak [Adoration] (1903) and Slaven [The Slave] (1878)

[soulmaking]

John Donne, Holy Sonnet II

[girl-of-ink]

How many more time must I be forced to write about Donne's Holy Sonnet 14? Have I not suffered enough??

[gut-wrenching]

Sonnet VII

At the round earths imagin’d corners, blow Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe, All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow, All whom war, dearth, sage, agues, tyrannies, Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe. But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space, For, if above all these, my sinnes abound, ‘Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace, When wee are there; here on this lowly ground, Teach mee how to repent; for that’s as good As if thou’hadst seal’d my pardon, with thy blood.

John Donne

[honourablejester]

But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, That not one houre my selfe I can sustaine; Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art, And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet I

John Donne - for when you’re in an overwrought, gothic mood, and want to imagine a tired paladin praying to a lodestone god in a quiet chapel before venturing out into sin and darkness once more

(Okay, so the context of the sonnet is that the poet is dying and remonstrating slightly with god for letting it happen and then pleading god not to let him rot of his own sin, so … bit of a darker tone in context, but I just ... really like the image of the iron heart, hard and brittle, bowed and wearied by temptation and darkness, and drawn helplessly to this magnetic, brighter thing, this force that lifts it up out of terror and despair ...)

[il-nero-virtuoso]

Visit Original Link

Requested By @la-nero-maestro

“Holy Sonnet 10 : Death, Be Not Proud” By John Donne (1572-1631)

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ; For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke ; why swell’st thou then ?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally And death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.

[discalced-diapason]

Holy Sonnet 10 (or 14) by John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurp'd town to another due, Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end; Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain, But am betroth'd unto your enemy; Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.