English poem
To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Zealously My Muse Doth Salute All Thee
by John Donne
Zealously my Muse doth salute all thee, Enquiring of that mystic trinity Whereof thou, and all to whom heavens do infuse Like fire, are made; thy body, mind, and Muse. Dost thou recover sickness, or prevent? Or is thy Mind travailed with discontent? Or art thou parted from the world and me, In a good scorn of the world’s vanity? Or is thy devout Muse retired to sing Upon her tender elegiac string? Our minds part not, join then thy Muse with mine For mine is barren thus divorced from thine.
More by John Donne
- To Mr. Rowland Woodward: If, as Mine Is, Thy Life a Slumber Be
- To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Kindly I Envy Thy Song’s Perfection
- 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. Samuel Brooke
- To Mr. Thomas Woodward: All Hail, Sweet Poet, More Full of More Strong Fire
- To Mr. Thomas Woodward: At Once from Hence My Lines and I Depart
- To Mr. Thomas Woodward: Haste Thee, Harsh Verse, as Fast as Thy Lame Measure