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They warn me of the fearful danger of relapsing
They warn me of the fearful danger of relapsingMetusque, RelabiMeditationJohn Donne IT is not in man's body, as it is in the city, that when the bell hath rung, to cover your fire, and rake…John Donne: Expostulation XXIII. Metusque, relabi.
ExpostulationJohn Donne MY God, my God, my God, thou mighty Father, who hast been my physician; thou glorious Son, who hast been my physic; thou blessed Spirit, who hast prepared and applied…John Donne: Prayer XXIII. Metusque, relabi.
PrayerJohn Donne O ETERNAL and most gracious God, who, though thou beest ever infinite, yet enlargest thyself by the number of our prayers, and takest our often petitions to thee to be an…Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions
John DonneEditor's Note:In the original text, each section is typically comprised of a single paragraph which may be quite lengthy. In order to render the text more suitable for online reading, which…John Keats: Ode on indolence
To AutumnOde on indolence They toil not, neither do they spin.Matthew 6:28 One morn before me were three figures seen, With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced; And one…John Keats: Over the Hill and Over the Dale
Modern LoveThe PoetOver the Hill and Over the Dale Over the hill and over the dale, And over the bourn to Dawlish— Where gingerbread wives have a scanty sale And gingerbread nuts are…John Keats: The Poet
Over the Hill and Over the DaleSongThe Poet A Fragment Where’s the Poet? show him! show him, Muses nine! that I may know him! ’Tis the man who with a man Is an equal, be he King Or…John Keats: Song
The PoetA Song About MyselfSong I O blush not so! O blush not so! Or I shall think you knowing; And if you smile the blushing while, Then maidenheads are going. II There’s a blush…John Keats: A Song About Myself
SongStanzasA Song About Myself I There was a naughty boy, A naughty boy was he, He would not stop at home, He could not quiet be— He took In his knapsack A book Full of vowels And a…John Keats: Stanzas
A Song About MyselfThis Living Hand, Now Warm and CapableStanzas I In drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne’er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot…Trending
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