by John Donne
Send me some token, that my hope may live,
Or that my easelesse thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
That in my passion I may hope the best.
I beg noe ribbond wrought with thine owne hands,
To knit our loves in the fantastick straine
Of new-toucht youth; nor Ring to shew the stands
Of our affection, that as that's round and plaine,
So should our loves meet in simplicity;
No, nor the Coralls which thy wrist infold,
Lac'd up together in congruity,
To shew our thoughts should rest in the same hold;
No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
And most desir'd, because best like the best;
Nor witty Lines, which are most copious,
Within the Writings which thou hast addrest.
Send me nor this, nor that, t'increase my store,
But swear thou thinkst I love thee, and no more.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.
- Mark Olival-Bartley
- Mark Olival-Bartley studied applied linguistics at Hawaii Pacific University, attaining B.A. and M.A. degrees in TESOL, and poetry at the City College of New York. He is now writing a dissertation on the sonnets of E. A. Robinson at LMU München, where he tutors composition and edits weekly flyers on poetry and style. His poems and translations have appeared in journals on both sides of the Atlantic. He is the resident poet at EcoHealth, where his science-themed verse is regularly featured, and a senior copyeditor of Review of International American Studies. He also teaches at Münchner Volkshochschule and runs the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.