Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY MARKHAM, by JOHN DONNE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Man is the world, and death the ocean Last Line: Of such a prey, and to his tryumph adde. Variant Title(s): Elegy On The Lady Markham | ||||||||
Man is the World, and death the Ocean, To which God gives the lower parts of man. This Sea invirons all, and though as yet God hath set markes, and bounds, twixt us and it, Yet doth it rore, and gnaw, and still pretend, And breaks our bankes, when ere it takes a friend. Then our land waters (teares of passion) vent; Our waters, then, above our firmament, (Teares which our Soule doth for her sins let fall) Take all a brackish tast, and Funerall, And even these teares, which should wash sin, are sin. We, after Gods Noe, drowne our world againe. Nothing but man of all invenom'd things Doth worke upon itselfe, with inborne stings. Teares are false Spectacles, we cannot see Through passions mist, what wee are, or what shee. In her this sea of death hath made no breach, But as the tide doth wash the slimie beach, And leaves embroder'd workes upon the sand, So is her flesh refin'd by deaths cold hand. As men of China, 'after an ages stay, Do take up Porcelane, where they buried Clay; So at this grave, her limbecke, which refines The Diamonds, Rubies, Saphires, Pearles, and Mines, Of which this flesh was, her soule shall inspire Flesh of such stuffe, as God, when his last fire Annuls this world, to recompence it, shall, Make and name then, th'Elixar of this All. They say, the sea, when it gaines, loseth too; If carnall Death (the younger brother) doe Usurpe the body, 'our soule, which subject is To th'elder death, by sinne, is freed by this; They perish both, when they attempt the just; For, graves our trophies are, and both deaths dust. So, unobnoxious now, she'hath buried both; For, none to death sinnes, that to sinne is loth, Nor doe they die, which are not loth to die; So hath she this, and that virginity. Grace was in her extremely diligent, That kept her from sinne, yet made her repent. Of what small spots pure white complaines! Alas, How little poyson cracks a christall glasse! She sinn'd, but just enough to let us see That God's word must be true, All, sinners be. Soe much did zeale her conscience rarefie, That, extreme truth lack'd little of a lye, Making omissions, acts; laying the touch Of sinne, on things that sometimes may be such. As Moses Cherubines, whose natures doe Surpasse all speed, by him are winged too: So would her soule, already'in heaven, seeme then, To clyme by teares, the common staires of men. How fit she was for God, I am content To speake, that Death his vaine hast may repent. How fit for us, how even and how sweet, How good in all her titles, and how meet, To have reform'd this forward heresie, That women can no parts of friendship bee; How Morall, how Divine shall not be told, Lest they that heare her vertues, thinke her old: And lest we take Deaths part, and make him glad Of such a prey, and to his tryumph adde. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A HYMN TO CHRIST, AT THE AUTHOR'S LAST GOING INTO GERMANY by JOHN DONNE A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER by JOHN DONNE A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW by JOHN DONNE A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY by JOHN DONNE A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING by JOHN DONNE A VALEDICTION: OF MY NAME IN THE WINDOW by JOHN DONNE A VALEDICTION: OF THE BOOKE by JOHN DONNE A VALEDICTION: OF WEEPING by JOHN DONNE AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD: THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY by JOHN DONNE ELEGY: 11. THE BRACELET; UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESS'S CHAIN by JOHN DONNE |
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