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poem by John Donne

Whilst yet to prove
I thought there was some deity in love,
So did I reverence, and gave
Worship; as atheists at their dying hour
Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power,
As ignorantly did I crave.
Thus when
Things not yet known are coveted by men,
Our desires give them fashion, and so
As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow.

But, from late fair,
hish highness sitting in a golden chair,
Is not less cared for after three days
By children, than the thing which lovers so
Blindly admire, and with such worship woo;
Being had, enjoying it decays;
And thence,
What before pleased them all, takes but one sense,

And that so lamely, as it leaves behind
A kind of sorrowing bulness to the mind.

Ah cannot we, as well as cocks and lions, jocund be
After such pleasures, unless wise

Diminisheth the length of life a day--
This; asshe would man should despise
the sport,
Because that other curse of being short,
And only for a minute made to be
Eager, desires to raise posterity.

Since so, my mind
Shall not desire what no man else can find;
I'll no more dote and run
To pursue things which had endamaged me;
And when I come where moving beauties be,
As men do when the summer's sun
Grows great,
Though I admire their greatness shun their heat.
Each place can afford shadows; if all fail,
'Tis but applying worm-seed to the tail.

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