John Donne Poem

Sun, Begone

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Wherefore peep’st thou, envious Day?
     We can kiss without thee;
Lovers hate that golden ray
     Which thou bear’st about thee.

Go, and give them light that sorrow,
     Or the sailor flying:
Our embraces need no morrow,
     Nor our kisses eyeing.

We shall curse thy envious eye
     For thy soon betraying;
Or condemn thee for a spy,
     If thou find’st us playing.

Get thee gone, and lend thy flashes
     Where there’s need of lending:
Our affections are not ashes,
     Nor our pleasures ending.

Were we cold or wither’d here,
     We could stay thee by us;
Or but one another’s sphere,
     Then thou shouldst not fly us.

We are young, thou spoilst our pleasure;
     Go to sea and slumber;
Darkness only lends us leisure
     Our stolen joys to number.

If She Deride
A Paradox

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