John Donne

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

John Donne Poems

1. Psalme Cxxxvii. 10/21/2014
2. The Soule 10/21/2014
3. Good Friday 10/21/2014
4. To Sir Henry Goodyere 4/9/2010
5. To The Earl Of Doncaster 4/9/2010
6. To Mr. Tilman After He Had Taken Orders 4/9/2010
7. To Sir Henry Wotton 4/9/2010
8. Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus 4/9/2010
9. Translated Out Of Gazaeus, 4/9/2010
10. To Sir Henry Wotton Ii 4/9/2010
11. Raderus 4/9/2010
12. Klockius 4/9/2010
13. To Mr. Samuel Brooke 4/9/2010
14. Holy Sonnet Xi: Spit In My Face You Jews, And Pierce My Side 4/9/2010
15. Ralphius 4/9/2010
16. To The Countess Of Bedford Ii 4/9/2010
17. Nativity 4/9/2010
18. La Corona 4/9/2010
19. Satire I 4/9/2010
20. Satire Ii 4/9/2010
21. To Mr. Rowland Woodward 4/9/2010
22. To Mr.I.L. 4/9/2010
23. To The Lady Magdalen Herbert, Of St. Mary Magdalen 4/9/2010
24. Temple 4/9/2010
25. Upon The Translation Of The Psalms By Sir Philip Sidney And The Countess Of Pembroke, His Sister 4/9/2010
26. Epithalamion Made At Lincoln's Inn 4/9/2010
27. To The Countess Of Bedford I 4/9/2010
28. Elegy Xii 4/9/2010
29. Satire V 4/9/2010
30. To Mr.T.W. 4/9/2010
31. Phryne 4/9/2010
32. Elegy Xi: The Bracelet 4/9/2010
33. The Annunciation And Passion 4/9/2010
34. Niobe 4/9/2010
35. To The Praise Of The Dead And The Anatomy 4/9/2010
36. Holy Sonnet Xix: Oh, To Vex Me, Contraries Meet In One 4/9/2010
37. To Mr. I. P. 4/9/2010
38. To Sir Henry Wotton At His Going Ambassador To Venice 4/9/2010
39. Ressurection 4/9/2010
40. Crucifying 4/9/2010
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

The Bait

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

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