English poem
To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Kindly I Envy Thy Song’s Perfection
by John Donne
Kindly I envy thy song’s perfection Built of all th’ elements as our bodies are: That Little of earth that is in it, is a fair Delicious garden where all sweets are sown. In it is cherishing fire which dries in me Grief which did drown me: and half quenched by it Are satiric fires which urged me to have writ In scorn of all: for now I admire thee. And as air doth fulfil the hollowness Of rotten walls; so it mine emptiness, Where tossed and moved it did beget this sound Which as a lame echo of thine doth rebound Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new life did give, I recreated even by thy creature live.
More by John Donne
- To Mr. Edward Guilpin
- To Mr. I. L.: Blest Are Your North Parts, for All This Long Time
- To Mr. I. L.: Of That Short Roll of Friends Writ in My Heart
- To Mr. Rowland Woodward: If, as Mine Is, Thy Life a Slumber Be
- To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Like One Who in Her Third Widowhood Doth Profess
- To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Muse Not That by Thy Mind Thy Body Is Led
- To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Zealously My Muse Doth Salute All Thee
- To Mr. Samuel Brooke