To John Donne

A poem by Ben Jonson

Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse
Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;
Whose every work of thy most early wit
Came forth example, and remains so yet;
Longer a-knowing than most wits do live;
And which no affection praise enough can give!
To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life,
Which might with half mankind maintain a strife.
All which I meant to praise, and yet I would;
But leave, because I cannot as I should!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'To John Donne' by Ben Jonson

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy