John Donne

(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631 / London, England)

Comments about John Donne

  • Veteran Poet - 1,202 Points Joseph Dela Sulh (losembe) (7/1/2015 8:39:00 PM)

    This poet is wonderful

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Veteran Poet - 1,123 Points Panmelys Panmelys (12/3/2014 11:09:00 AM)

    Very interesting comments. Not enjoying poems on love seems a great sadness, I'd like to quote that Love is never wasted, even when it doesn't last, lines by Panmelys a new member, myself. John Donne is a great favorite and brings much joy to many, this is greatness. Like many others in this period, it's amazing how modern they seem, in spite of the gabs between epochs. Panmelys

  • Rookie - 0 Points Harvey Rabbit (8/30/2014 10:02:00 AM)

    The quote beginning Actually, if my business was legitimate, is not from John Donne, who was not a prostitute, did not have to deal with a corporate income tax, and would not likely have begun a sentence with actually. The real author appears to be Xaviera Hollander.

  • Rookie Punky Daly John (1/10/2013 4:45:00 PM)

    i read this John Donne Poems in Chapters only once with inner peace music

  • Rookie Grace Bunton (10/22/2012 9:54:00 PM)

    You forgot to mention that the first 2 stanzas of Go: and Catch a Falling Star were used in Diana Wynne Jones' book Howl's Moving Castle

  • Rookie Shahzeb Azhar (5/16/2012 6:14:00 AM)

    Hi i don't like poems or story acording to love

Best Poem of John Donne

No Man Is An Island

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

Read the full of No Man Is An Island

Holy Sonnet X

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

[Hata Bildir]