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Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun; Thyself from thine affection Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye All lesser birds will take their jollity. Up, up, fair bride, and call Thy stars from out their several boxes, take Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make Thyself a constellation of them all; And by their blazing signify That a great princess falls, but doth not die. Be thou a new star, that to us portends Ends of ..
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stars
light
joy
happiness
brides
brightness
jewels
phoenix
radiance
imagery
wedding
metaphors
sun
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John Donne |
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Though Truth and Falsehood be Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is.
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John Donne |
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And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.
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John Donne |
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She is all states, and all princes, I, Nothing else is.
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John Donne |
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For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
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John Donne |
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As well a well-wrought urn becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.
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John Donne |
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I am two fools, I know, In whining poetry.
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John Donne |
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Who are a little wise, the best fools be.
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John Donne |
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Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here today.
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John Donne |
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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John Donne |
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When I died last, and dear, I die As often as from thee I go.
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John Donne |
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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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John Donne |
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Twice and thrice had I loved thee, Before I knew thy face or name.
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John Donne |
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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John Donne |
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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John Donne |
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I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.
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John Donne |
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To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.
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John Donne |
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A bracelet of bright hair about the bone.
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John Donne |
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Take heed of loving me.
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John Donne |
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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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John Donne |
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Ah cannot we After such pleasures?
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John Donne |
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Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls; For, thus friends absent speak.
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John Donne |
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Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
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John Donne |
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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John Donne |
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She, and comparisons are odious.
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John Donne |
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No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace, As I have seen in one autumnal face.
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John Donne |
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The heavens rejoice in motion, why should I Abjure my so much loved variety.
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John Donne |
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The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts Not of two lovers, but two loves the nests.
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John Donne |
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Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
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John Donne |
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O my America! my new-found land.
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John Donne |
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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John Donne |
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What if this present were the world's last night?
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John Donne |
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Show me, dear Christ, Thy spouse, so bright and clear.
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John Donne |
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Variable, and therefore miserable condition of man; this minute I was well, and am ill, this minute.
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John Donne |
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Age is a sickness, and Youth is an ambush.
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John Donne |
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I do nothing upon myself, and yet am mine own executioner.
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John Donne |
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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
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John Donne |
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How deep do we dig, and for how coarse gold?
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John Donne |
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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John Donne |
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthian soul!
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John Donne |