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John Donne THE GOOD-MORROW I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov'd? were we not wean'd till then? But suck'd on countrey pleasures, childlishly? Or snorted we i'the seaven sleepers den? 'Twas so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee, If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. And now good morrow to our waking soules, Which watch not one another out of feare; For love, all love of other sights controules, And makes one little roome, an every where. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let Maps to others, worlds on worlds have showne, Let us possesse our world, each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, Where we can finde two better hemispheares Without sharpe North, without declining West? What ever dyes, was not mixt equally; If our two loves be one, or thou and I Love so alike, that one doe slacken, none can die. ? ? ? ? , , ? ! ; , . , ; , . , . : ! , , , , . . .

 

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John Donne HOLY SONNETS Thou hast made me, And shall thy worke decay? Repaire me now, for now mine end doth haste, I runne to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday; I dare not move my dimme eyes and way, Despaire behind, and death before doth cast Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste By sinne in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh; Onley thou art above, and when towards thee By thy leave I can looke, I rise againe; 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. ? , , , , , . , , , , , . , , . . , . : , . . .  

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