The Sun Rising

John Donne 1572 (London) – 1631 (London)

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
             Why dost thou thus,
     Through windows, and through curtains, call on
     Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
             Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
             Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,
         Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
         Call country ants to harvest offices,
     Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
   Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of

           Thy beams, so reverend and strong
           Why shouldst thou think?
   I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
   But that I would not lose her sight so long:
           If her eyes have not blinded thine,
           Look, and tomorrow late, tell me
       Whether both the'Indias of spice and mine
       Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
   Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
   And thou shalt hear: 'All here in one bed lay.'

           She'is all states, and all princes I,
           Nothing else is.
   Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,
   All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
           Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,
           In that the world's contracted thus;
       Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
       To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
   Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
   This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 26, 2023

1:07 min read

Quick analysis:

Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 1,379
Words 218
Stanzas 3
Stanza Lengths 12, 10, 10

John Donne

John Donne was an English poet, satirist, lawyer and a cleric in the Church of England. more…

All John Donne poems | John Donne Books

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