The Ecstasy

John Donne.

WHERE, like a pillow on a bed,

  A pregnant bank swell’d up, to rest

The violet’s reclining head,

  Sat we two, one another’s best.


Our hands were firmly cèmented

  By a fast balm which thence did spring;

Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread

  Our eyes upon one double string.


So to engraft our hands, as yet

  Was all the means to make us one;

And pictures in our eyes to get

  Was all our propagation.


As ‘twixt two equal armies Fate

  Suspends uncertain victory,

Our souls—which to advance their state

  Were gone out—hung ‘twixt her and me.


And whilst our souls negotiate there,

  We like sepulchral statues lay;

All day the same our postures were,

  And we said nothing, all the day.

literature, poetry

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