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Poem by John Donne

Loves Usury

FOR every hour that thou wilt spare me now,
          I will allow,
Usurious god of love, twenty to thee,
When with my brown my grey hairs equal be.
Till then, Love, let my body range, and let
Me travel, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget,
Resume my last years relict; think that yet
          Wed never met.
Let me think any rivals letter mine,
          And at next nine
Keep midnights promise; mistake by the way
The maid, and tell the lady of that delay;
Only let me love none; no, not the sport
From country grass to confitures of court,
Or citys quelque-choses; let not report
          My mind transport.
This bargains good; if when Im old, I be
          Inflamed by thee,
If thine own honour, or my shame and pain,
Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain.
Do thy will then; then subject and degree
And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee.
Spare me till then; Ill bear it, though she be
          One that love me.

John Donne

John Donne's other poems:
  1. The Legacy
  2. The Annunciation and Passion
  3. Temple
  4. The Damp
  5. Oh My Blacke Soule! Now Thou Art Summoned

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