Come live with mee, and bee my love, And wee will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and christall brookes, With silken lines, and silver hookes. There will the river whispering runne Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the Sunne. And there the'inamor'd fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. When thou wilt swimme in that live bath, Each fish, which every channell hath, Will amorously to thee swimme, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. If thou, to be so seene, beest loath, By Sunne, or Moone, thou darknest both, And if my selfe have leave to see, I need not their light, having thee. Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legges, with shells and weeds, Or treacherously poore fish beset, With strangling snare, or windowie net: Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest The bedded fish in banks out-wrest, Or curious traitors, sleavesilke flies Bewitch poore fishes wandring eyes. For thee, thou needst no such deceit, For thou thy selfe art thine owne bait; That fish, that is not catch'd thereby, Alas, is wiser farre than I.
John Donne - 1572-1631
At the round earth's imagined corners (Holy Sonnet 7)
At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, All whom the flood did, and fire shall, o'erthrow, All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes, Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space; For, if above all these, my sins abound, 'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace, When we are there. Here on this lowly ground, Teach me how to repent; for that's as good As if thou'hadst seal'd my pardon with thy blood.