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Poem by John Donne


The Soule


Thee, eye of heaven, this great soule envies not;
By thy male force is all wee have begot;
In the first East thou now begins to shine;
Suck'st early balme, and island spices there;
And wilt anon, in thy loose-rein'd careere
At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danon dine,
And see at night thy Westerne land of Myne :
Yet hast thou not more nations seene than shee,
That before thee one day beganne to bee,
And, thy fraill light being quenched, shall long, long outlive thee.



John Donne


John Donne's other poems:
  1. Crucifying
  2. Fall of a Wall
  3. Temple
  4. Break of Day
  5. The Indifferent


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